From Italy With Love
by KayValo87
Summary: It started with a transatlantic flight, but what happens next will change the dynamics of Team Machine forever. First in a series.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everybody!**

I started at a new school and my classmate (now roommate) made me watch this amazing show with her called "Person of Interest." Three seasons of binge watching later, I was in love.

 **NOTE:** This is my first fic ever in this fandom and it is kinda AU, but I got the idea and just had to run with it.

A huge round of applause for my two bets, Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf, for their patience in helping a dyslexic college student with mental issues finish a multi-chapter story in a decent amount of time.

 **DISCLAIMER:** As I have only known about the show for less than a year, there is no way I could possibly own anything connected to it.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Grace Ellsworth leaned back into the hard cushions of her coach seat. Down below the endless sea of clouds was the Atlantic ocean; the only barrier that had been between her and her old life. A life when she was Grace Hendricks.

It was amazing how quickly everything had changed. One day she was just going along with her business, her largest concern being how she was going to pay her phone bill, then she was kidnapped and soon after whisked away to Italy with a new job. What exactly had happened, she didn't know, but she knew it had something to do with Harold.

The men who took her had asked about him. She didn't know why. After all, Harold was dead … at least, that's what she had thought. A friend's recent visit to New York had proven differently. An innocent photo, taken in the park by her old house, had turned Grace's world upside down.

He was there.

She didn't know what to think or what to feel when she saw his face in the background. Somehow, she had always known he was out there, just beyond her reach. But why? Why let her think he was dead?

He had tried to tell her once, reveal something about himself he was ashamed of. She had stopped him, told him that nothing he could say would make her stop loving him. It was true. Not even his apparent death had changed her feelings. She was just as in love with the man now as she had been on the day he opened a book to give her a ring.

Whatever had happened, they would work through it, together. Because once she found Harold, Grace was never going to let him go again.

Never.

 ***P*O*I***

Lionel Fusco looked over his latest piece of paperwork, or should he say his partner's paperwork. He was going to have a serious talk with Wonder-Boy about this. He was a homicide detective, not a secretary. Next case, Tall-Dark-and-Fearsome was doing the paperwork. ALL of it.

"Detective Fusco?"

He looked up to see a red haired woman who looked pretty upset. Then again, most people who went looking for a homicide cop were. But most of them were more sad or angry, this girl was frustrated. On top of that, he could have sworn he had seen her somewhere before.

"Yeah," he muttered in greeting, motioning her to have a seat. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for Detective Stills."

"I'm afraid he hasn't worked here in years."

"Yes, I know. I meant the _other_ Detective Stills. I met with him less than a year ago."

Great, she was one of theirs.

"Just a minute."

Lionel pulled out his cell and found the right number. It only rang twice before a familiar dry tone came on the line. Did that guy ever feel stress?

" _Yes Lionel?_ "

"Someone's here looking for Detective Stills."

" _That may be difficult, since he's dead."_

"Yeah, but she says she talked to him less than a year ago. Ring any bells now, Fancy-Pants?"

" _I'll be right there."_

The call ended without another word, which was typical considering who he was talking to. But what was he gonna do with the girl until Wonder-Boy showed up? Commandeering an interrogation room for maximum privacy, just in case, he figured the least he could do was make her comfortable … as comfortable as you could be in an interrogation room, anyway.

"Anything I can get for you, Miss …"

"Ellsworth. Grace Ellsworth, and no, I'm okay."

Ellsworth? The name didn't ring a bell, but still she seemed really familiar. Thus began the awkward waiting period; Lionel trying to recognize her on one side of the table, the girl avoiding eye contact on the other. He gave her a smile, she gave him one, and then they switched to staring at inanimate objects; him at his coffee and her at her diamond ring. Engagement probably, since it was missing a second band. Then again, maybe the groom could only afford one ring. Of course if he could only afford one ring, he probably would have downsized on the rock a bit. That had to be at least a full carat. Look at him; from vice to homicide to jeweler. Mr. Sunshine better get here soon.

"You don't remember me, do you?" she asked, twisting a ring around her finger.

"No, sorry."

"It's okay, it's been a while and you probably see a hundred people a week."

"Give or take."

She gave him half a smile, but didn't offer anymore information. So, he went back to his cold coffee and she went back to spinning her ring. Awkward silence was an understatement. When Tall-Dark-and-Absent finally did show up, he was doing all the paperwork for the next month. Luckily, it was only ten more minutes of awkward silence before he came through the door. Only.

"Detective," Miss Ellsworth exclaimed, rising to her feet.

For once, the ever-stoic John Reese looked completely shocked. Clearly there was some sort of history here, as well as the perfect opportunity to snap a picture of the Ice Man looking less than cool. The click of the phone seemed to break the trance, as well as earn Lionel a brief glare from his partner, but it served him right for leaving him to do all the work.

"Hello, Grace. Why aren't you in Italy?"

"Wait," Lionel interrupted. "You're _that_ Grace?"

"Yes, um … I know you told me not to look back, but … this is gonna sound crazy."

She cut herself off, quickly turning the ring on her finger, while Lionel tried to think back to what had happened last year. Something had gone down with some pretty shady characters and Grace somehow got caught up in the middle of it. No one had bothered to give him any details, but something made this girl important enough for Glasses to turn himself over to the enemy. It must have been something pretty crazy to get her to come back after an experience like that.

"What is it?" his partner pressed.

"I think my fiancé is in New York."

"How is that crazy?" Lionel questioned.

"Because Harold died four years ago."

Harold? As in Glasses? Mr. Vocabulary had a fiancée? Lionel looked over at his partner, but the wall was back up. No answers from there. Either he didn't know himself, which was unlikely, or this was just one of the many things that he and his boss had deemed unnecessary to tell him about.

"What makes you think he is still alive?"

"I have a picture that one of my friends took last month," Grace explained, pulling a photograph out of her purse. "They were at the park right outside my old house. See? There's Harold in the background."

Deciding not to bring up how much of a creeper Glasses was for stalking his ex's old house, while she was out of the country, Lionel looked over the picture. Sure enough, there was their mutual friend sitting on a park bench in his trademark coat and hat. They were lucky that this picture had gone to Italy and not their enemies, but usually he was more careful than this.

"Are you sure this is him?"

"Of course I am," she shot back, sounding slightly offended. "Don't you think I would know my own fiancé? I mean, look at this."

She pulled a framed picture from her purse. This one was very clearly their friend in glasses, though he was hardly recognizable with that big smile on his face. Then again, if Lionel had a girl that looked like Grace kissing his cheek, he would be smiling too.

"Now are you gonna try to tell me that is not the same man?" she demanded, putting the pictures side by side.

His partner stayed silent for a minute before excusing himself to 'make a few calls,' and by 'few' he meant one. Though he would love to listen in on that call, the detective stayed behind with Miss Ellsworth. He was still trying to get over that fact that this girl, _this_ girl, was once engaged to their very own Mr. Reclusive. How does that even happen? Lionel was far more outgoing, and he was lucky just to get a second date.

"I know that look," she murmured, pulling him from his thoughts. "You think I'm crazy."

"No," he replied with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "I was just wondering—never mind."

"You were wondering why I would fall for a guy like Harold?"

"Well … yeah," Lionel admitted. "I just wish I knew his secret."

"Ice cream in January."

"Come again?"

"We met in the park by my house. Harold bought me a vanilla ice cream cone from the vendor, even though there was snow on the ground," she answered with a soft smile. "It was just one of those first impressions you never forget."

It sure sounded like it. It also sounded completely different from his own first impression of the guy. A faceless voice on the phone was far less endearing than an ice cream cone in the park, snow or not. Still, he could see why it worked for Glasses, but something told him that particular situation was a one time thing. Some guys had all the luck.

"Grace," Wonder-Boy called, stepping back into the room, "you need to come with me. You too Lionel."

"Where are we going?" she asked, gathering her things.

"I need to take you somewhere safe."

"Safer than a police station?"

"Sweetheart," Lionel chuckled, "you have no idea."

* * *

So? What do you think of chapter 1? See any problems on the horizon?

Stay tuned for chapter 2! :)


	2. Chapter 2

I would like to dedicate this chapter to 1monster2 and Phnxgrl for their kind words and support on my first chapter in this fandom. You are awesome. :)

Secondly, I would like to give another huge thanks to my betas, Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf, for thir help feedback that helped shape this chapter and the ones that came after.

For the rest of you, enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Grace stared out the window, watching the familiar streets of the city pass by. Each person going along in their own world, just as she had the last time she had been here. But things weren't as they seemed; people weren't as they seemed. This detective, if he even was a detective, knew far more than he was telling. Did he know something about Harold? Was that why he helped her escape to Italy? And what about his partner? Was Detective Fusco in on it too?

It seemed the more Grace learned, the less she knew. Still, there was only two answers she really wanted; where was Harold and was he alright? Nothing else mattered, just as long as he was alright. God, please let him be alright.

They were driving through her old neighborhood and she couldn't help gazing out the window at the park. It seemed like a lifetime ago that the quiet man had approached her with a vanilla ice cream cone despite the sharp teeth of winter biting every bit of exposed skin. He wasn't there now, but she hadn't really expected him to be. She hadn't expected him to be in the background of her friend's picture,and she never expected to return to New York searching for him. But here she was, sitting in the backseat of an unmarked police car, hopefully on her way to some answers.

 ***P*O*I***

They reached the safe house without incident. There were pedestrians crossing the street some small distance from a safe and available crosswalk two blocks away, but the area was otherwise empty. John slipped out from the driver's seat and moved to open the back door for Grace. She seemed on edge, but no more than was expected for a woman who just found out that her dead fiancé might not actually be dead. Finch was going to need every trick on his hard drive to even have a prayer of getting out of this one.

"Here we are," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

Grace looked up at the brownstone with about as much enthusiasm as if he had just brought her to a mausoleum. She tugged on her sweater, wrapping it tighter around her slender frame. As brave as she was trying to act, John could see fear shining in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Lionel asked with a frown, closing the back door of the car behind him. "You don't like the place?"

"No, it's really nice … kinda reminds me of my old place."

At those words, John mentally kicked himself, especially since her last place was the location where she was first attacked by Decima. It was a wonder Harold hadn't thought of that himself. Then again, since Samaritan forced them underground, they didn't have many safe houses available to them.

"Come on," Lionel said gently, placing his hand on her back. "I'm sure it will be better on the inside."

In fact it was, extraordinarily so. Walking in felt like stepping back in time. All the furniture was antique- from the crystal chandelier in the library on the left to the carved table running along the wall on the right. Huge armchairs and long couches dominated the main floor surrounded by large paintings and gilded mirrors. This place must have been acquired before Decima and Samaritan cut off access to Finch's bank accounts. No way he could have paid for all this on a teacher's salary. But how was it that no one ever found this place?

"Oh wow," Grace said from the library.

John poked his head in to see the artist touching the corner of the painting hung over the fireplace. It was a park, with tiny people dodging between tall trees and kites dancing among the clouds. Not a great deal of detail, but not a bad image all together.

"You like it?" he asked, stepping into the room.

"I painted it," she whispered back. "It was sold to a gallery over a year ago. I guess this is where it ended up. Funny how small the world can seem sometimes."

John just smiled in response, wondering if Finch remembered that he had put one of her paintings in this house and hoping their were no more surprises for her to stumble on. Better take a look around, just to be sure. Motioning to his partner to keep an eye on Grace, John headed to the lower level. Once there, the antique furnishings gave way to a very modern kitchen and a modest guest quarters. At least as modest as you could be with a private fireplace and your own bathroom. Past the kitchen was a long dining table before a set of glass doors that led out to a small patio with an equally small garden. Aside from a painting over the guest fireplace, that was likely painted by Grace, there was nothing too obviously Harold's taste to give him away on this level. However, there were dishes in the drying rack next to the sink, suggesting someone had used the place recently.

Bypassing the floor he started on, John headed up to the third level to find three more bedrooms, each holding several stacks of boxes. The ex-op only had to remove a few of the lids to realize that each one was full of old books. This must be where Harold stored his private collection after they lost the library. But when did he find time to move it?

"Hey, Wonder-boy," Lionel called, appearing at the top of the stairs. "Have you been able to find a kitchen in this museum?"

"First floor," John answered, closing one of the boxes. "Just be sure to keep Grace out of the bedroom down there."

"Got it. Anything else I should know?"

"If you need to know," he said dismissively, "I will tell you."

"Yeah, whatever," his partner grumbled. "Any idea who lives here?"

"It's a safe house, Lionel. No one lives here."

"You sure about that?"

Without waiting for an answer, he headed back down the stairs, leaving John curious. It did seem more lived in than the average safe house, but not lived in enough to be used regularly. Or if it was, it was used by a very tidy person who had a thing for books.

A noise from above him made John cautiously head toward the stairs. Finch had left very clear instructions that no one was to go to the fourth floor, but the possibility of a threat trumped his previous orders. What he saw made him think Lionel had been right about someone living here.

Starting on the left, John found a generous bathroom with three sinks, two toilets, a walk-in shower, and a spa quality tub. Though fairly immaculate, the sink opposite the shower had a toothbrush and water glass perched next to the hand soap. The shower also showed signs of being used recently.

Continuing through the closet, he found a large bedroom with several more paintings and a full body mirror. An immaculately made bed sat along the wall, opposite a fire place, before a set of French doors that led to a terrace- one of which was rattling and causing the sound he had heard. On the floor at the foot of the bed was a large cushion and a small stack of books rested on the end table beside an elaborate lamp.

The furnishings, not to mention their perfect placements around the room, were starting to give John a funny feeling about the occupant. Turning his head to the interior of the closet confirmed his suspicions and he quickly headed back down to the kitchen, all the while wondering if he should tell Lionel what he had discovered. Of course, that would mean admitting that his partner was right, but this was too big to ignore. On the other hand, Finch didn't want him up there for a reason, so maybe he shouldn't say anything at all. However, the raised voices as he approached the kitchen shoved all other thoughts from his mind.

"Just calm down," Lionel was saying. "You've had a long flight and you're exhausted."

"That has nothing to do with it!" Grace snapped.

"What's going on?" John inquired before the yelling could continue.

"Detective Stills, I tried to look for tea and this is all I found."

She shoved a box in his hands and he was almost afraid to look. The Chinese characters boldly marching across the label practically hid the English translation underneath, but not well enough to keep Grace from recognizing the flavor. This, coupled with the rest of the house, left no doubt in John's mind as to who lived here.

"First the painting, then all the books, and now sencha green tea," Grace said quietly, tears creeping into the corners of her eyes. "This is Harold's house, isn't it?"

* * *

What do you think?

The next part will come up in 24 hours, but I have been known to speed up time tables when asked.


	3. Chapter 3

Good morning!

This chapter is for Impvme for being the only person to actually ask for me to speed up the time table.

As usual, I'd like to give a shout out to my great betas, Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf, for their help with a particularly hard chapter.

So, as requested, Harold's response ...

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

He was alive.

She had known it before, but it had been more of a hope or a dream. This was no dream. Harold was alive.

The thought brought tears to her eyes as she sat, curled up in one of _his_ chairs in _his_ library with _his_ coat wrapped around her shoulders. She had found it in the coat closet in the entry way, farther proof that she was right. It smelled like him. She had almost forgotten the scent of his clothes, but that one jacket brought it all back.

It was like the smell of old books, comforting and familiar, mixed with the fresh warmth of a spring day. There was no other way to describe it; it was just … _Harold_.

Sipping a cup of bitter tea helped make everything more real. It was his tea, sencha green with one sugar, just as _he_ liked it.

This wasn't the way Grace normally took her tea, since she preferred honey to sugar, but under the circumstances she couldn't have it any other way. It was all his, as was she, and Grace was not leaving that spot until he came home.

 ***P*O*I***

She was there.

Harold could only stare at the screen in front of him, trying to get himself to really believe what he was seeing. Grace was in his house, drinking his tea in his library, and wearing one of his jackets. It was too big, but that didn't make it any less endearing. She looked so beautiful, but so sad. It pained him to see her tears, especially considering he was responsible for them. Not only had he allowed her to believe he was dead, but it was his ill-timed sentimentality that had brought her back to New York in the first place. He was usually so careful. Why was it that she was always able to get him to lower his defenses? She made him feel so …

" _You there Finch?_ "

"Always, Mr. Reese," he replied, eyes still on Grace.

" _You think you will be coming home anytime soon?_ "

Although the question was both justified and rather obvious, it still sent Harold's mind spinning. Grace was at home. Grace was safest where he was not. He couldn't go home … but he wanted to. He wanted to hold her again more than anything, but it was safer for her if he stayed away.

"I think I will stay here for the night," he replied, trying not to sound disappointed.

" _You sure?_ "

"Yes, it's quite … comfortable."

Even as he said it, the sight of the couch made his back ache. Still, it was for the best. It was for her. He could take a few nights of discomfort if that was what it took to keep her safe.

" _Well, then I hope that chair is comfortable._ "

"We do keep a couch down here, Mr. Reese."

" _I know, I was actually talking about Grace. She said she wasn't going to leave that chair until you came home._ "

His eyes moved back to the screen, to the woman curled up in his jacket. He had sat in that very chair often enough to know its comfort level, which was quite high, but also knew it was not the best for sleeping.

"Do you think you could persuade her to at least move to the settee?"

" _Assuming I knew what a settee was-_ "

"The small couch under the window."

" _I doubt she'll move. She's very … determined. But I'm sure the chair won't hurt her back too much. Who knows, she may not even sleep at all._ "

"This is blackmail, Mr. Reese."

" _Well, that's a harsh word._ "

Harsh or not, he knew it was true, Harold could hear it in his tone. It was a low and dirty trick, but it was working. He rose from his desk and headed to where he had left his coat. As if sensing it was time to go, Bear jumped up from his bed and trotted over to him.

"I'll be there shortly," he called out, before cutting communications.

Bear waited patiently while Harold took his time gathering his things. He probably should hurry as it was likely Grace would not go to bed until he did, but he couldn't shake the uncertainty that had set in the minute he put on his coat.

What was she going to say when she saw him? What was he going to say to her? What could he say to her? After everything he had put her through, she must hate him. She should hate him; he didn't deserve anything else. But why didn't she hate him?

" _Finch?_ "

"I said I was on my way, Mr. Reese."

" _Do you need me to pick you up?_ "

"I don't know why you would think that was necessary."

" _Well, you've been on your way for the last hour._ "

Startled, Harold looked at his watch. Had it really been that long? It seemed time flies when you are terrified. But why should he be terrified? Grace crossed an ocean to see him. She must want to see him … but how could he face her?

" _Finch?_ "

"I'll be leaving shortly."

" _Don't bother, I'm on my way._ "

He thought about objecting, but there was really no point. John's stubbornness reminded him of Nathan. An act of congress couldn't have swayed him once he had set his mind on something. Then there was Grace, as well as Ms. Groves and Ms. Shaw, not to mention the detectives he had worked with. What was it with him befriending stubborn people?

He had ten minutes to dwell on that thought before John showed up to escort him home. It was probably childish for Harold to feel better facing Grace with his friend beside him, not that he would ever admit it. Lord only knew how long it would take for him to live it down if any member of his team found out. He may trust each of them with his life, but that did not mean they were always helpful when it came to his sanity.

"Harold? We're here."

Startled out of his thoughts, he noticed that the car had stopped. There was no more time, no more delay. He was home … and so was Grace.

* * *

Sorry to leave you with a cliffhanger, not to mention a shorter chapter, but that happens sometimes.

Let me know what you think and the next art will go up within the next 24 hours.


	4. Chapter 4

Hallo allerseits!

This chapter is dedicated to my readers in Germany for giving me the second most hits by country. Yay Germany! Whoot whoot!

As always, I'd like to give a shout out to my betas, Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf, for being awesome.

Viel vergnügen!

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

Grace stared at the bits of tea floating around the bottom of her cup. Detective Fusco had once again given up trying to get her to go upstairs to one of the bedrooms. Sleep could wait. Nothing was going to move her from that spot … except him. It had been a dream to think he was still out there somewhere, but the coat around her shoulders brought it quickly to reality.

As she waited in the library, she had studied every seam. A button had been replaced on the sleeve, the only sign being a slight difference in the sewing style. Obviously a professional fix, as Harold would accept nothing less. There was a receipt in the pocket, dated less than a month before, from a bookstore that Harold favored. She didn't recognize the title, but the abbreviation for first edition further proved that it belonged to her absent fiancé.

How much longer would he stay absent?

She was distracted by the sound of the front door opening. Was it Harold or just John coming back? Grace set down her tea and was about to get up when Detective Fusco appeared in the doorway.

"Stay there," he ordered, one hand resting on his gun. "I'm gonna go check it out."

Nervously, Grace sank back into the chair. It was easy to forget that these cops were here to protect her. From what, they did not seem eager to tell her, but she knew it had something to do with Harold. God, please let him be safe.

"'Bout time you showed up," came the detective's gruff tone. "Maybe you can get her to get some sleep while it's still dark out."

"And here I thought you were so good with people," John's voice drawled.

So it was just him. Her heart sank a little as she watched them pass the door toward the living room. First Fusco, then John … then the world stopped.

It was him.

How she made it to her feet, Grace would never know, but she found herself pulled toward the apparition in front of her; the living ghost of the man she thought she would never see again. His eyes shown with every emotion, but he stayed where he stood, as ridged as a statue. Was it really him or just a cruel dream?

"Grace," he whispered, his mouth forming a soft smile.

She reached out, to full of emotion to speak, and placed a hand on his cheek. It was warm, more importantly, it was real. He reached up to cover her hand with his, just as strong and soft as she remembered. A heartbeat later, his lips pressed against hers and all thoughts of danger and heartache faded.

Harold was alive, and he was hers.

 ***P*O*I***

"Hey, Wonder-boy, are they still in the doorway?"

"No, it looks like they've moved into the room."

Lionel shook his head, just about ready to give up on the tv. Somehow, Glasses had managed to have a cable package that included only local programming, news, and a bunch of music channels. Who turns the tv on for music? Hadn't the guy ever heard of a radio?

"So what's gonna happen now?" he asked, flipping off the tv. "Lady Grace may have found her prince, but something tells me this ain't gonna end in a happily ever after."

"Always a pessimist, Lionel."

His tone may have been light, but there was concern on his partner's face. Who could blame him? John Reese had openly admitted to having only one real friend in the world. Of course, he did amend the statement later, but the point still stands. How was the boss going to handle himself now that his girl was back in the picture? How was Wonder-boy going to protect them both? Lionel sighed inwardly, knowing that this would mean double duty for him as well. Glasses would never forgive them if anything happened to Grace on their watch. Speaking of which …

"How long should we let the lovebirds catch up?" he asked, glancing at his watch. "It's been over an hour now."

"It's been four years," the ex-op corrected, not looking up from the gun he was reassembling at the counter. "I think we can give them a few more minutes."

Lionel wasn't sure he could last a few more minutes. It was almost 2:00 in the morning and there was absolutely nothing in the house that would keep him awake. There wasn't even any coffee! In one last effort to find something to occupy his time, he started to peruse one of the bookshelves. Most of the authors were from before his time, and the rest seemed to be before his grandfather's time. Not a single modern book on the whole shelf.

Giving into his boredom, Lionel grabbed a book at random. Poetry. He grabbed another book. More poetry. He scanned for a title that couldn't possibly be poetry … _Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Powers and the Investigation of Truth_ …. At least it wasn't poetry. However, two pages of that and he almost wished it was.

"I'm gonna go check on them," Lionel announced, shoving the book back on the shelf.

He chose to ignore the smirk his partner was giving him and headed down the hall. The library door was open, but the room seemed quiet. It didn't take him long to figure out why. Perched on the couch by the window, sat the couple. She was sideways, her legs hooked over one of his, and her head resting on his shoulder. His head was tilted slightly, pressed against the top of hers, and his fingers were wrapped around her hand. Both were sound asleep. As much as Lionel didn't want to disturb them, he had an idea that neither one would feel good in the morning sleeping like that.

"Hey," he whispered, getting his partner's attention.

Reese set down his current half assembled gun – how many of those did he have? – and made his way down the hall, a small smile crossing his face at the sight. So normal things did make him happy after all, who knew? Still …

"I ain't carrying Prince Charming up any steps."

"I'll take care of Finch," he replied. "You can get Lady Grace."

* * *

So, what do you think? Was their reunion what you imagined?

I look forward to your feedback and will post the next one in 24 hours, or sooner if requested.

Wir sprechen uns später!

P.S. I found all the German phrases on Yahoo Answers, so I hope they actually work.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry, this was a little later than I intended, but I was watching a wonderful Mark Ruffalo movie with my roommate. (I'm a sucker for Mark Ruffalo and so is she)

Anyway, I would like to once again thank my awesome betas, Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf, for their help and support.

 ***NOTE*** I realize some people may disagree with how I have chosen to portray Harold and Grace's relationship pre-ferry bombing. However, I would just like to say that I see Harold as a gentleman type which gave me a few ideas that I thought went well in this story. I may be completely wrong, but as I already labeled this story as AU, I hope you all can enjoy the humor it brings.

Here you go ...

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

Grace felt as though she was floating on a cloud, but the cloud seemed solid and smelled faintly of lavender. The dreamlike mist was replaced by soft cotton that wrapped around her like a warm cocoon. A bed. She was in a bed, but not her own. It was too luxurious to be from any hotel, not even five stars could give you this kind of mattress. So who's was it?

Deciding that her curiosity was stronger than the hold of sleep, Grace opened her eyes to find herself in a spacious bedroom. The walls were a color somewhere between blue and gray, highlighted by a white ceiling. The floor was wood except for the white tile surrounding the fireplace. A set of French doors led to a terrace opposite a full length mirror. She also counted five books on the nightstand and and three of her paintings hanging on the walls. This had to be Harold's room.

It was jut like him to give up his bed for her, but no sooner had Grace had the thought then she realized she was not alone. Beside her, with the serenity of sleep smoothing out his face, was Harold. Of course, he wasn't going to look that serene when he woke up to find her next to him. Her fiancé had certain standards of propriety; the very idea that they had just shared a bed out of wedlock might give him an aneurysm. Maybe if she slipped out of bed very carefully he might not wake- too late.

"Grace?"

"Good morning," she said with a smile, hoping to keep him calm.

It seemed to work … until his eyes shifted and he seemed to realize where they were. Harold shot upright, his face turning red as shock overtook his features. Hoping to avoid a heart attack, Grace placed a hand on his arm and kept her voice as calm as possible.

"It's okay, nothing happened. We just fell asleep, that's all. Look, we're still dressed."

He looked down, placing a hand on his shirt as if to reassure himself it was still there and calming slightly when it was. In fact, the only articles of clothing missing for either of them were their shoes and Harold's tie. Apparently, whoever put them to bed had a few rules of propriety as well. However, this seemed to make Harold annoyed and he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Please excuse me, Grace, I have to go speak to someone. There is a bathroom right across the hall. Just let me know if you need anything else."

How she was supposed to let him know as he was hurrying out of the room, she let slide. Crossing the floor in sock covered feet, she headed toward the bathroom, wondering how much it would shock Harold to know that it felt good waking up next to him. Best morning she had in four years.

 ***P*O*I***

John sipped his coffee, glancing over the morning paper … well, one of them. Why Finch needed four daily papers was puzzling. Not surprising, knowing his friend, but puzzling. You would think he could get all he needed from one or two, not to mention how it looks to his neighbors to have papers piling up on his doorstep every day.

"Am I still dreaming or do I smell coffee?"

In response to his partner's greeting, John silently handed over the second cup without looking up from an article about a military operations in the middle east. Lionel muttered a blessing as he popped the lid off the paper cup before rummaging through the New York Times, probably for the sports section. But his partner's morning routine was suddenly the last thing on John's mind, when the click of a lock caught his attention. Abandoning his own coffee and paper, he made it into the hallway just in time to see the door to the outside swing open and a familiar figure step inside.

"Down boy," Root said playfully slipping past him into the kitchen. "I'm just here because she said you would need my help."

"Thanks, but I think we got this covered," Lionel grumbled from his seat at the counter.

The hacker, however, didn't appear to be listening as her eyes swept the room. John could only imagine what was going on in that head of hers, and didn't even try to guess what was coming through her ear. All he knew was that, as much as Root had been a help to them, she was probably the last person Finch wanted in his house … of their allies, anyway. Speaking of Finch …

"Mr. Reese," he huffed, hurrying down the last few steps with as much dignity as his limp would allow. "What is Grace doing in my bed?"

"Oh, Harold," Root sighed. "I think you'd be able to answer that question better than us."

John had often been amazed by Finch's level of self-control, but this time he exceeded all previous standards. Despite the obvious level of embarrassment he was feeling, his boss had managed to keep what had to be a bright red blush down to a light pink.

"I believe I requested a guest room to be made up for her," he continued, managing to keep his voice steady. "In the future, I would appreciate if my instructions were carried out."

"Hey, we're all adults here," Lionel chimed in. "I mean, it's not like she's never been in your bed before."

Finch's expression was now passed embarrassed and John had a feeling that their assumption might have been a bit off. His partner must have realized the same thing, based on the look of shock his face had adopted, while Root just laughed.

"So wait," Lionel started, "you two haven't … ever? But … you have with somebody … right?"

"I hardly think that is an appropriate inquiry, Detective," Finch said in what could only be defined as a dignified mutter, stepping around them to get to the stove.

"So is that a no?" Root asked with a wide grin.

Finch chose to ignore her as he put a kettle on. As much as John enjoyed seeing his tight laced boss get some friendly ribbing, chances were that Grace would be coming soon, so it was best to end the conversation before that happened. It was one thing to tease Harold, it was another to completely mortify him.

"Speaking of Grace," he started, coming to his friend's aid, "do we have any idea what we are going to do with her?"

"For the time being, she will stay here," Finch replied, giving John a brief look of gratitude before opening a cupboard to retrieved a pair of mugs. "Beyond that … only time will tell."

His expression had become withdrawn, but John could see a few rays of hope mingling with the uncertainty in his eyes. Clearly their time apart had done nothing to lessen their feelings for each other, but with everything going on could they even start to plan a future together?

"Good morning."

The cheerful voice seemed to erase all the worry from his boss' expression as Harold turned to smile at Grace. Root opened her mouth, but shut it again when John caught her eye. Finch was dealing with enough right now, he didn't need Root's snide and inappropriate comments on top of everything else. Lionel seemed to agree and got out of the way so Grace could help Harold make breakfast.

"So," the artist started ten minutes later, as the five of them gathered around the table for toast and scrambled eggs, "what happens now?"

She looked at them as if they had the answers, and John sincerely wished they did. The safest thing for her would be to send Grace back to Italy, but that was out of the question. Losing her again would probably kill Finch, and Grace wouldn't fare any better. But Decima was still out there and their agents knew her face. They had found themselves in one of he most dangerous situations yet and had no plan for their next move.

What _was_ going to happen now?

* * *

Any ideas?

Let me know what you think while I prepare the next chapter for posting.


	6. Chapter 6

Hello again!

I hope you enjoy this brief update, dedicated to my fabulous betas, Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf, for helping me get this story off the ground in the first place.

Here you go ...

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

Grace rinsed the suds off the last of the breakfast plates before placing it in the drying rack and starting on the cups. Their morning meal had been … interesting. Harold's friends had seemed to spend the entire time trying not to talk about anything. It made her feel a little guilty, that her arrival had somehow messed everything up, but at the same time she couldn't imagine staying away.

"Grace?"

She looked up from the sink to see Harold heading her way. By the look on his face, it seemed something was wrong. For one fleeting moment a wave of panic came over her, that his enemies may have caught up with him—but then he took the sponge from her hand.

"You don't need to be doing this. I'll take care of it later."

"They're just dishes, Harold," she said, taking back the sponge. "They won't hurt me."

Grace gave him a smile to try and erase the worry that had entered his eyes. She didn't think he was actually worried about her getting hurt washing a cup, but her comment must have reminded her fiancé of the dangers that really were out there. It reminded her too.

Yesterday she had wanted answers and last night Harold had given them to her. All of them. On one hand it was nice to know that there were not any secrets between them, but on the other hand she was still trying to wrap her brain around what was really happening here. Harold had lived his life under constant threat for so long and had given up so much to keep her out of danger. Now she was right in the middle of it and she should be terrified, anyone with sense would be… but she wasn't… not really… maybe a little. But even after being kidnapped, changing her name, and fleeing the country; the only thing that mattered was that Harold was back in her life. She could deal with whatever was going to happen as long as he was with her.

 ***P*O*I***

Harold was torn. On the one hand, he was elated to have Grace back in his life. On the other hand having her with him also meant that every threat against him could put her at risk. It was an odd feeling to be terrified and ecstatic at the same time.

"You okay?" Grace asked, squeezing his hand.

"Fine," he replied, forcing a smile.

It wasn't a complete lie, he was okay … but he would be better when Grace was back inside his house. Even with her face hidden under a hat and sunglasses, not to mention Bear at their side, he still didn't like her being out where anyone could see her. The park may be their place, but it was so exposed Maybe he should call John just in case …

"Do you want to head back?"

"Might be best if we do," he admitted.

"It's alright," Grace said with a small smile. "It's almost lunch time anyway."

He could hear the disappointment in Grace's voice and it was his turn to squeeze her hand. Harold hated the fact that they couldn't take a walk in the park without the need for disguises and perimeter checks, but he was not going to let Decima get to her again. He would die first.

"So, where is John?" she asked as they started back toward the house.

"He is checking on a florist who has run into some domestic troubles."

"Her boyfriend or husband?"

"His wife."

"Oh," she blushed slightly. "Sorry."

"It's a common misconception," he assured her with a soft smile. "The young man is actually quite talented."

Speaking of which, Harold's phone chose that moment to alert him to a text from the wife to an unknown number. The message was no where near cryptic enough to hide its murderous intent. He would have to trace the number fast if he was going to give John the best chance of stopping him. But he couldn't abandon Grace in the middle of the street ….

"Duty calls?" Grace asked, a note of concern in her voice.

"Uh … yes … um-

"You go ahead. We're only a block and half from the house. I can make it back on my own."

"Well," he started, scanning for any possible threats, "at least take Bear with you and send me a text the minute you get back. Miss Shaw should be there by now."

"I'll see you later," she smiled, leaning in for a soft kiss.

He watched her until they were out of sight, before turning to hurry down another street. It wouldn't take him long to reach the subway tunnels, but he should probably warn John. Reaching up to activate his ear piece, Harold was startled when a hand grabbed his arm and yanked him roughly into an ally. Pain shot through his back as he was shoved against the wall and he found himself looking up at a man with murder in his eyes.

"You think you can take her from me?!" the stranger demanded, a strong scent of bourbon on his breath. "You think you would have a chance?! Grace is mine!"

* * *

Anyone see that coming?

Once again, I will try to have the net part up in about 24 hours, unless requested sooner.


	7. Chapter 7

Hello again!

This chapter is dedicated to 1monster2 who is the only reviewer (thus far) who has reviewed to every chapter. You rock!

Another thank you to my betas, Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf, for giving me more help than usual with this chapter. (It was shorter than I wanted, but has everything it needed.)

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Grace stepped into the entryway, Bear's tail thumping against her knee as she slipped out of her coat. He seemed eager to get inside, but what was through the second set of doors that made him so happy was anyone's guess. Harold had said that another friend was coming by, but the dog's excitement could simple be because it was lunch time.

"Hello?" she called out, moving into the main hallway. "We're back."

Suddenly a woman appeared in the entrance to the living room. Her dark hair and eyes matched her simple black outfit. She was pretty, but might look more so if she smiled. This must be Miss Shaw.

"Word of advice," the woman said, her voice monotone. "Don't announce your presence until you know who else is around. It gives away your position."

With that, she and the large gun that had been hiding just behind the wall moved back into the living room, Bear close at her heels.

Harold had such interesting friends.

 ***P*O*I***

Lionel stopped at a light, wishing he could turn on his lights and siren, but knew that Glasses wouldn't want the attention. What trouble he could have gotten himself into two blocks from his house, the detective wasn't sure. Still, his partner's tone had said it was important that he reached him immediately.

The alleyway was so well hidden that Lionel passed it the first time and had to walk half a block from the nearest parking spot. Once in the alley, he looked around for … what was he looking for? But no sooner had he thought the question that he caught sight of something just passed the dumpster. Even though it lay half in the shadows, Lionel recognized a body when he saw one.

A thousand curses ran through his head as he hurried over to the prone form of his friend, letting out a small sigh of relief when he found him breathing. Thank God for small miracles; like the fact these two yo-yos had yet to give him any gray hair.

"Come on, Glasses, wake up," he urged, shaking him as gently as he could.

From the look of him, the guy probably had at least a few cracked, if not broken, ribs. Whoever was responsible for this was gonna pay, especially when his partner got hold of them. A few broken ribs would be a blessing compared to what Mr. Happy dished out, and that was when he _wasn't_ angry.

"Hmm … De … tect … ive?"

"Yeah, it's me. You okay?"

Probably a stupid question under the circumstances, but what else do you say to a guy you find bleeding in an alley? Still, the broken man nodded and even tried to get up. More troubling still, Mr. Vocabulary wasn't talking. That was never a good sign.

"Easy there," Lionel cautioned, helping him to a sitting position. "You mind telling me what happened here? You look like you lost a fight with a cement truck."

"I assure you … he was … quite human."

So it was a 'he' working alone. It was a start, but they could get more after they got their friend cleaned up. First things first, they needed a doctor. Since a hospital was too public, he was going to have to bring him to Satan's niece. Of course, getting him into the car - which was no easy feat - was easier than convincing him to get help.

"I'm fine."

"Really? Try saying more than three words without flinching."

"There is … no need to … worry Miss Shaw."

"Uh-huh. Do you think you can make it to the door or would you like me to carry you?"

"Detective-"

"Look, I'm not any happier about this than you are. If it were up to me, you would be in the closest ER. But someone has to take a look at those ribs, so you either get in that house or I'll let Tall-Dark-and-Trigger-Happy deal with this. Your call."

Five minutes later he was sitting on the living room couch slowly unbuttoning his shirt, one that cost a month's pay and was therefore unable to be torn off as Nurse Ratched had originally suggested. While Grace helped him with that, Lionel stepped out. He had a call to make.

"Did you find him?" his partner asked in place of a greeting.

"Yeah …"

He wasn't sure how to proceed in a way that didn't result in someone getting their face smashed in or losing a kneecap. He could just say that Glasses was okay, but what if he wasn't? There was no way Lionel was going to get the wrath of Reese aimed at him, not if he could help it.

"How bad?"

"Not sure. Florence Nightingale is with him now. We'll know soon."

"I'll be there in ten."

With that, the line went dead. Lionel stepped back into the living room and got a good look at the bruises rapidly forming across his friend's pale frame. He would be lucky if he didn't have a broken rib from a beating like that.

The guy who did this was a dead man.

* * *

So Finch is safe, or is he? Is Grace? We all the know the attacker is not ...

Let me know what you think and I'll get the next one up in the next 24 hours.


	8. Chapter 8

Hey there!

I know this is early, but I have been sick in bed for two days now and needed to do something to cheer me up.

Thanks again to Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf for putting up with my stop-and-go writing. (Be glad they did, that way you guys don't have to.)

Here you go ...

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Grace hovered around the couch, wishing there was something she could do to ease Harold's pain. Who could have done this to him? Why would anyone want to hurt someone as kind and gentle as her fiancé? Though even as she thought it, she knew the answer. Harold's work has made him many enemies. Still, it just didn't seem right that someone, who only ever tried to help people, should suffer so badly.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You could sit down," came Miss Shaw's dry reply, as she prodded his bruises.

Harold gave Grace a weak smile, but she could see emotion in his eyes. There was fear and pain, two things he didn't deserve. She knew the fear was for her. He didn't have to say it, he never would, but she knew.

"Finch?"

"In here," Miss Shaw called back.

A moment later, John appeared in the doorway. Never before had he looked so tall and imposing as he did when he saw Harold. His eyes narrowed and he said only three words.

"Who did it?"

"He was not … obliging enough to … offer his name," Harold grunted.

"Anything you can tell us?" Detective Fusco questioned.

"He was about … mid-40s … blond hair … dark eyes … almost black … his hands were … rough and calloused … there was a scar … shaped like a V … on his wrist … he enjoyed bourbon."

If Harold said anything else in his description, Grace didn't hear. She didn't have to. Quietly she slipped from the room, her thoughts spinning so fast they made her dizzy. He did it. He had come for her. Oh God! This was all her fault!

 ***P*O*I***

John watched Grace leave, not missing the look Finch gave her as she left. There was clearly more there than either one was saying, but he could worry about that later. Right now his main concern was that his friend got the help he needed. After that, he would hunt down the bastard who did this.

"You have three broken ribs," Shaw announced. "You need to go to the hospital to rule out internal injuries."

"I understand," Finch sighed, with a barely visible wince.

To one extent, he admired his boss' skill at hiding pain. It could be a useful skill in their line of work. On the other hand, John had experienced broken ribs first hand and knew how excruciating the very act of breathing could be. If Finch could keep this level of pain down to a wince, how often had he hidden injuries in the past? The man walked with a limp on a good day, was he always in pain?

"Mr. Reese?"

"Yeah?" he asked, stepping forward.

"Could you … stay with Grace?"

At first, John wasn't thrilled with the idea. Someone had hurt his friend and he didn't want to give them a second chance to finish what they started. But Grace obviously knew something about the attack and she might be able to help him find the guy before he found Harold again.

"Consider it done."

"I'll take him to the doctor," Lionel volunteered. "That way we can avoid those pesky police reports."

With that taken care of, John helped get Finch to the car before seeking out Grace. He found her in the library, but not in her usual chair. She was in the corner facing the wall, her shoulders trembling slightly.

"He's gonna be alright," John offered.

Grace turned, tears running down her cheeks and anger burning in her eyes. She was clutching something so tightly that all John could see was a glimpse of blue fabric. The sight was startling to say the least, as he had never seen her truly angry before, but completely justified considering the circumstances.

"It's my fault," she cried. "That … that bastard came because of me … he hurt Harold … it's all my fault!"

She turned away again, probably to hide the fresh tears John already knew where forming. To say the situation was awkward would be an understatement. It was obvious that Grace knew exactly who had attacked Finch, but would she be able to tell him anything in her current state? One thing was working in his favor: Shaw was still in the living room.

"What's with her?"

Scratch that, there was nothing working in his favor.

"She knows who hurt Finch," John whispered.

"Who?"

He shrugged, motioning to the still crying girl in the corner. Shaw rolled her eyes and walked over to Grace. John thought about stopping her, but he really had no other alternative. They needed to know what she knew and if this was the only way ….

"Who did it?"

"It's my fault," Grace repeated quietly to the wall. "He came after me and … Oh God, he could have killed him!"

"He still might if you can't tell us who he is."

John cleared his throat, subtly trying to tell Shaw not to make the situation worse. The way things looked, Grace was just as likely to run as she was to tell them what happened.

"He won't kill him," John promised. "He's not gonna get within a mile of Finch if I have anything to say about it. But if we are going to stop him, we need to know who he is."

Grace took a deep breath, visibly composing herself. She moved away from the wall, moving the the mantle, still clutching what John could now see was Finch's bloodstained tie. For a moment, she just stared at the cold fireplace, then she quietly started.

"His name is Vincenzio Tadaro. I worked with him in Italy; he's a sculptor."

That would explain the rough hands, and it also gave John an idea of why he went after Finch. Rejection was never easy, but being replaced was worse. Still, he had talked to Grace before she went to Italy and there was no way she was over Harold. It looked like Mr. Tadaro didn't get that memo.

"Vince was so kind when I arrived," Grace continued. "I just needed a friend so badly that I … I didn't see what was happening."

So this was a one way romance, John surmised. Even more reason for him and Vince to have a little talk about respecting a woman's boundaries.

"When he proposed, I didn't know what to say. He told me to think about it, but then I found out that Harold was still alive. I sent the ring back the day I left for the airport. I never dreamed he would… oh God."

As her composure broke, John's anger grew. This man had stalked Grace and nearly killed Finch. Deportation just seemed to good for him… then again, so did breathing.

* * *

What do you think?

 **COMING SOON:** Harold on pain meds ...


	9. Chapter 9

Good morning! (or afternoon ... or night ... it's morning here.)

I have a busy day today and didn't want to forget to post, so I'm doing it early.

I'm dedicating this chapter to a boy who can't read yet, and who also happens to be the reason I'm going to be busy today.

 **HAPPY 5TH BIRTHDAY GARRETT! AUNTY LOVES YOU!**

That being said, I'd like to thank my betas, Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf, for giving me a significant amount of help with this chapter (that required a partial rewrite).

Now, as promised, the part where Harold gets pain meds ...

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Grace scrubbed Harold's tie before pulling it out of the water to see if she was even making a difference. She hadn't tried to get blood out of silk since … since the last time she was with Harold. He had gotten a paper cut and dripped it on his tie. Of course, that time it had only been a few drops. This time ….

She let the train of thought fade away and went back to scrubbing. It may seem ridicules, but she felt that if she could get the tie clean then Harold would be okay. If only she could wash away his injuries as easily.

With the tie finally clean, she hung it up to dry and headed back to the library. It was the room that felt most like Harold, so it was only right that this is where she would wait for him. To her surprise, she was not the only one with that thought.

"John? Is everything alright?"

"Fine," he answered, not moving from the edge of the window. "Finch will be back soon."

"So he really is okay," Grace said with a sigh of relief.

"I said he would be, didn't I?" John replied with half a grin.

She smiled back before taking her new favorite spot in the armchair by the fireplace, the same spot she had waited for him the night before. Had it only been the night before? Their time apart seemed to be shrinking, as if she had never really left him. But Vince's arrival was a dark reminder that things had changed. The world was a lot more dangerous, for both of them.

 ***P*O*I***

Harold shifted slightly, but no matter what he did the fire in his side refused to fade. He had been injured by two bombs and a gunshot, not to mention numerous back and neck surgeries, so why did this feel like the worst pain ever?

"You doing alright back there?" Detective Fusco called from the driver's seat.

"I'm fine."

While the cop pretended to believe him, Harold continued to shift around the back seat in a futile attempt to get comfortable. Unfortunately, all he succeeded in doing was aggravating his injuries. Hadn't it been long enough for the pain killers he had taken at the hospital to kick in? Perhaps he should have requested something stronger … like chloroform.

"Home sweet home."

The announcement brought more relief than the hard cushions ever could and Harold couldn't get out of the car fast enough. However, his bad luck continued and the pain killers took the exact moment he was vertical to knock him sideways. Good thing that Detective Fusco was faster than he was.

"Fine, my ass," he grumbled, looping his arm under Harold's for support. "Why don't you wait until we get inside before you collapse, huh?"

He tried to thank him, but speech was becoming difficult. Somehow, the two managed to make it to the steps before the world started to tilt again. More hands appeared and he found himself in the soft embrace of …

"Harold?"

He opened his eyes to see Grace smiling down at him. It may have been the medication, but he could swear there was a soft glow around her, like the halo of an angel. It made her look more beautiful than ever.

"Hi," he whispered, unable to contain his own grin. "You're pretty."

"I guess the medication is working."

The new voice was too deep to be from Grace, but still made him smile. His eyes shifted to see his partner next to his girl, also surrounded by a glow. But when did he become an angel?

"John … you're pretty too."

"Maybe we should let him sleep some more," Grace suggested, adjusting a blanket that had somehow appeared over him. "Sounds like he needs it."

"No," Harold protested, weakly catching her hand. "Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere," Grace promised, kneeling beside him. "Never again."

"Never again," Harold echoed.

Holding her hand as tightly as his weakened state would allow, he closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him. As long as he had her with him, everything would be okay.

Everything would be okay.

However, the next time he awoke, everything was not okay. The pain had returned with a vengeance and whoever had been kind enough to remove his glasses while he was asleep had not bothered to put them close enough that he could find them in the dark. The only comfort he had was the warm hand still resting in his.

Grace.

It seemed she had been serious about staying with him, though their conversation felt like one from a dream, why else did he remember her and John glowing? Speaking of John …

"Mr. Reese?" he whispered into the shadows.

"Yes, Harold?"

The answer was a little unnerving, since he couldn't see where it came from other than somewhere behind him. Still, if there was anyone he trusted lurking around in the dark, it was John … not that it was comfortable for anyone to be lurking around in the dark. Was he lurking or watching? There was a threat … wasn't there? Yes, that was why he was in pain.

"You still there?"

"Sorry … uh … yes. It seems my … where are … medication."

"Right here."

One of the shadows moved and Harold felt the distinct shape of a pill being placed in his palm. Good thing one does not need to see to find one's mouth. Still, he needed-

"Water?"

No sooner had he said the word then a calloused hand gently lifted his head and a cup was pressed to his lips. After a few cool sips, the cup was removed and his head was once again placed on a pillow. With that taken care of, all he had to do was wait for sleep to take hold again, but first …

"Mr. Reese … that man … he-"

"We're already on it, Finch," John whispered, once again moving behind him. "He won't get to you again, or Grace."

That promise was all he needed. Tightening his grip ever so slightly, he held onto the hand of his beloved, hoping she might follow him into his dreams.

* * *

Well, what do you think?

Let me know while I go celebrate with my sweet little nephew. (Of course, he is a big boy now and too old for Aunty's hugs and kisses ... YEAH RIGHT! His 11-year-old brother can't escape those! :P)

 **COMING SOON:** Someone finds Vince ...


	10. Chapter 10

Hello again!

So, I just got a call from 1monster2 who INSISTED that I publish the next chapter tonight. (But I suppose that is what happens when a reader has your phone number.)

Thanks to my betas, Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf, I had the chapter all ready to go.

Here it is ...

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

Grace woke slowly, stiffly straightening her head and shoulders. Sleeping on the floor was uncomfortable enough without using the couch as a pillow. But when she felt Harold's hand still clutching hers, she knew it was worth it.

Reaching up, she checked his bandages as best she could without disturbing him. Harold had been so out of it the night before, he passed out the second he reached the couch and didn't wake up again until sunset. He had only been lucid for a minute … if you want to call that lucid. At least she and John were the only ones around to hear him.

"Good morning, gorgeous," Detective Fusco greeted.

She turned to see that he was not talking to her, but to his partner. Apparently she was wrong about them being alone the night before.

"Lionel," John started calmly, "I would like to remind you that we are standing near a second floor window and, though you will probably survive the fall-"

"Shhh!" Grace hushed, noticing movement on the couch. "You're waking Harold."

"It's alright," he whispered, pain lines wrinkling his forehead. "I'm fine."

Not believing it for a second, Grace looked around for his pain killers. They weren't on the coffee table … or the end table … maybe someone moved them …

"John, do you know where the vicodin went?"

"Not necessary," Harold said, his voice slightly stronger. "Just give me an aspirin. I'll be fine."

"Of course you will," Grace replied, stroking his hair before looking up at John. "So, do you have the pills?"

She pointedly ignored the look Harold was giving her while his friend retrieved the medication from the cupboard. It was obvious that he disliked the strong pain killers, especially ones that hindered his ability to think clearly. Still, she would rather have a loopy fiancé than one that was suffering.

 ***P*O*I***

While Glasses slipped back into la-la-land, Lionel sat down at the computer to look over the files a buddy had sent him about the guy they were after. There wasn't much there, which wasn't surprising since the guy had only been in the country for 24 hours, but there was enough to get an idea of where to find him.

"Find anything interesting?"

His partner's question was no where near as startling as the fact he was suddenly right next to him. Did the guy ever make noise when he walked? Pushing the creepiness aside, Lionel shut the laptop, before Mr. Trigger-happy found his target, and muttered a vague answer. The way he saw it, things would work out best if he found the guy first. That way, he could give the scum-bag a chance to go back to Italy quietly before he became a bloody mess. The creep didn't deserve it, but Reese couldn't afford getting another write-up for excessive force.

It didn't take him long to find the three-star hotel and even less to get the Italian's room number. He could see why Wonder-boy liked impersonating cops so much, free access to nearly anywhere. Tucking away his badge, he made his way through the generic hallway toward room B14.

"Mr. Tadaro," he called, banging on the door. "NYPD, open up."

For once, the suspect did as he asked without hesitation, and Lionel saw why. The guy stood about six feet tall, just slightly shorter than his partner, and looked to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle. Maybe he should have let Tall-Dark-and-Homicidal deal with this after all …

"What is it?" Tadaro demanded with a heavy Italian accent. "I have no time for you. Go away."

"Well you better make time," Lionel stated, shooting out his hand to stop the door before it closed in his face. "I hear you have a problem with Grace Ellsworth."

"I have no problem with Grace," he argued. "What problem could I have with Aphrodite? With la Scapigliata? La Gioconda? La Donna Velata-"

"Alright!" the detective snapped. "I get it, you like her. News flash, pretty boy, she ain't interested. So I suggest you pack up and get out before you get into real trouble."

"Trouble from who?" the Italian sneered. "You?"

"No," came a quiet voice. "Me."

Lionel closed his eyes, feeling his partner move up behind him. So much for keeping this clean. By the time Mr. Sunshine was through with this dirt-bag, they were gonna need a mop.

"You and your tough cowboy act don't scare me," Tadaro huffed. "Not you or your little friend can keep me from my angelic muse."

"Hey, who you calling little?" Lionel protested. "Listen, Michelangelo, the only reason I got here first is to save my buddy here the trouble of beating your ass, the way you beat our friend. But if you don't get moving soon, he is going to help you out. Believe me, you don't want that."

"What I want is my muse," he replied coldly. "Grace is mine and always will be. Your spindly friend is out of his league."

Nodding in understanding, Lionel stepped to the side to allow Reese access to the hotel room. The door closed behind him, muffling the sounds of the struggle that ensued. A few minutes later, the door opened and out came Mr. Happy looking only slightly worse for wear.

"Mr. Tadaro has decided to go back to Italy," he said softly, wiping blood off his knuckles. "You think you could give him a ride to the airport … by way of the hospital?"

* * *

So, was John's meeting with Vince satisfying enough?

Let me know while I prepare the next chapter. (Which will be posted in 24 hours or when requested.)


	11. Chapter 11

There is an interesting story behind this chapter ...

You see, it was supposed to be a sort of wrap up chapter and the story was going to end here. However, something was bothering me about the ease o finding and stopping Vince- do things EVER go that smoothly for Team Machine?

Both my betas, Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf, encouraged me to see where the story led ... then this happened.

So, this chapter is for them and because of that I would like to invite you to check out my favorite of their fics. (Wuchel1's POI fic "Breaking Point" and Dlldarkwof's Forever fic "The Only Witness" *still in progress*)

Until then, see what happens when you let your muse off the leash ...

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

Grace entered the bedroom to check on Harold. The only way they were able to get him to take more painkillers was to move him somewhere more comfortable. However, the fact he was sitting up in bed said he had not held up his end of the bargain.

"Harold!" she scolded. "I thought you were going to rest."

He glanced up from his laptop, looking only slightly ashamed, before his eye returned to the screen. At least he was on the bed propped up with pillows, but it was the principle of the thing. How was he supposed to get better if he didn't stop working? How was he even awake?

"Did you take you medication?"

"Yes, just not the vicodin," he replied quietly. "My usual pain killers get the job done without any … unwanted side effects."

It suddenly dawned on Grace just how badly he must have been hurt in the ferry bombing for him to still need pain killers all these years later. Searching his face, she couldn't see any of the earlier signs of discomfort, so she decided to let the pills slide … for now.

"What are you working on?" she asked, taking a seat on the bed next to him.

"We received a new number," Harold replied, his fingers rapidly moving across the keys. "But I'm afraid this one is going to cause a bit of a challenge."

Leaning closer to his shoulder, Grace got a good look at the screen and her blood ran cold. That face … that name … it couldn't be …

 ***P*O*I***

John stepped into Finch's brownstone feeling better than he had in a while. Finch was safe, Grace was safe, Italy … while, Italy was probably better off at the moment, but it could deal with letting one more creep come home. However, when he saw the look on Root's face, his good mood started to fade.

"We have a problem," she announced and he took off his coat. "Harold is up and lucid."

"How is that a problem?"

"He's working on our new number."

She handed over a print out and any good mood that remained quickly evaporated. Of course it had to be him, because things would be too simple if it was someone else. Getting directions from Root, John made his way to the fourth floor where Finch was working away and Grace was perched on the bed next to him. She looked calm, as long as he didn't pay attention to her eyes, and his boss looked just as focused as he was with any other number.

"I assume you have spoken to Miss Groves," he questioned without looking up from his laptop.

"You know you are sitting this one out, right?"

"I can do my work from here."

"That's not what I meant."

For the first time since he walked in, Finch's fingers stilled. Grace placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but John couldn't tell if it was for his benefit or hers. For a moment neither moved, but then Finch turned slightly to say something to his fiancée too quiet for John to hear. She nodded and slipped out of the room.

"If you are worried about professionalism, Mr. Reese, I assure you that I can handle this like any other number."

"Can you?" John challenged, taking a step closer to the bed.

Finch looked up, his eyes betraying the war going on inside him. As professional as he was trying to be, it was obvious that his boss wanted to help the guy as much as he did. Still, John knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't let personal feelings get in the way of helping people … no matter how much he might want to.

"Wayne Myers was born in Newark, New Jersey, in 1967," he started, turning back to the screen. "He had a rather unremarkable life, aside from a long rap sheet containing mostly arrests for drunk and disorderly conduct or assault charges."

"I can believe that," John muttered, looking down on the sheet that Root had given him.

"Indeed," Harold agreed. "He got a job as a bouncer at a popular nightclub in 2001 and disappeared three years later with more than a quarter of a million dollars, as well as the owner's wife."

"I guess he never learned not to take things that didn't belong to him."

Finch didn't respond, but the pause in typing was enough of a reaction. This was the last number either of them wanted to get, today of all days, but it didn't make any sense. Why would they get this number now … unless …

"Finch, when did this number come in?"

"Last night."

"Which means, whatever is going to happen might happen today."

The annoyance he had felt when seeing their newest client turned to a rock in his stomach as John hurried down the stairs and out the front door. He pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial for Lionel, even before he started the car.

" _Yeah?"_

"Where are you?"

" _Where do you think I am? I took your new friend to the hospital. Gotta hand it to ya, it takes skill to duplicate someone's injuries, but I'm pretty sure Glasses only had three broken ribs-"_

"Lionel," he cautioned, cutting off his partner, "keep an eye on him. I'm on my way."

" _Why? What's wrong?"_

John looked down at the information sheet on his passenger seat, a familiar blond glaring back at him from the mugshot in the corner.

"I think Vince is going to miss his flight."

* * *

Anyone see THAT coming?

You feedback is appreciated as I prepare the next chapter, which will be up in 24 hours or when requested.


	12. Chapter 12

Hello,

Sorry this is late, but my roommate and I were working on homemade pretzels and time sorta got away from me.

Anyway, this chapter is a sort of interlude from the action, a chance to know what our favorite couple is thinking. I hope it answers any questions the last chapter may have raised.

Thanks again to my betas, Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf, for being awesome betas.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

As Grace prepared lunch, she wondered what Harold and John were talking about. No doubt it had to do with Vince- no, Wayne. His name was Wayne. If only her brain could keep up with the facts.

"That smells good."

She looked over her shoulder to see Miss Groves sitting at the island, fiddling with an apple she must have taken from the fruit bowl on the counter. That was another thing that took getting used to, not one in Harold's circle of friends seemed to make noise when they walked.

"Thank you," she murmured, turning back to the soup. "It's an old family recipe. I used to make it for Harold whenever he wasn't feeling well."

"He's a pretty lucky guy."

Grace smiled, marveling at how easy it was to talk to Miss Groves. No one had told her exactly how she fit into this group, but from their first encounter she would guess a background in law enforcement. Even so, aside from polite conversations with Detective Fusco, she was definitely the easiest one of them to talk to.

"How are you holding up?"

"I'll let you know when I figure it out myself," Grace replied with a humorless laugh. "I mean, I'm thrilled to finally get some answers about Harold, which was overwhelming enough, but now Vince has a secret life? What's next? Was my third grade teacher in the KGB?"

"I could find out for you?"

She was joking, she had to be … wasn't she? Grace decided to let it go and just focus on the soup. It was almost ready, just a few more minutes to simmer and it would be done. What did she need now? Bread. She grabbed a loaf from the bread box, allowing herself a small smile that Harold actually had one of those, and began a hunt for butter.

"Miss Groves?"

"You can call me Root, most people do."

"Root … what's gonna happen now?"

"Assuming that the big lug left lover-boy able to walk, we'll probably just stick him on a plane back to Italy."

Unsure if she liked the implications of the first half that comment or not, Grace chose to instead focus on the part about her ex leaving the states. She wasn't positive Harold would go for it, as he seemed to believe they had to protect him from here. But what if Wayne wasn't the one who needed protection at all? What if someone needed protection from him?

What if that someone was Harold?

 ***P*O*I***

Harold kept his fingers moving, as if enough typing might change the identity of their number. They had helped people in the past that were of less than savory nature and it had not been much of a problem. Even the task of protecting Elias was easily justified by the fact he was a human being with the right to a fair trial. But this time … this time it was hard to feel any level of sympathy.

"How's it going, Harry."

"Shouldn't you be downstairs?" he questioned, keeping his focus on the screen.

"Grace wanted to know if you would like jam with your bread."

"No, thank you."

That should have been the end of it, but he could see the other hacker start walking around the room out of the corner of his eye. This was another thing that made their current job so uneasy; he was not used to having other people in his personal space, particularly his bedroom.

"Was there something else, Miss Groves?"

"Just wondering when you were going to send away your rival in love."

Harold wasn't sure which he appreciated less; the assumption that he was going to send Wayne Myers into potential danger or her word choice. As much as he didn't care for the man, he wasn't going to put him at risk if he could help it. He wouldn't let him near Grace, but he wasn't going to put him at risk either.

"Mr. Myers will be free to return to Italy just as soon as it is safe for him to do so."

"You mean when he's able to walk again?"

Harold gave her a startled look. Were they too late already?

"Your guard dog paid him a visit this morning."

Before he was able to even think of a response, they were interrupted by Grace bearing a tray of soup and bread. For her sake, he would hold his tongue … for now.

"How are you feeling?" Grace asked, taking a seat on the bed and placing the tray on her lap.

"Much better, thank you."

Momentarily ignoring Miss Groves, Harold took the offered bowl of soup – chicken and rice, just like she used to in years past – and a slice of plain toast. She left her own lunch on the tray and spread some jam across her bread. They ate in silence and Harold hoped the other hacker in the room might decide to give them some privacy.

"You gonna eat that other piece of toast?"

No such luck.

* * *

So, what do you think of their thoughts? (That makes sense ... right?)

Let me know and I'l get the next part up in 24 hours or when requested. :)


	13. Chapter 13

Hello again.

So, to be honest, I was never really happy with chapter 12. It was necessary, but jut seemed ... dull to me. I had extensive discussions with my betas (Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf) about how to make it better, but none of us could think of something to add that wouldn't detract from the overall story.

Because of this, I decided to post the next chapter early. (I hope you don't mind.)

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

Grace took their lunch dishes back to the kitchen, leaving Root to keep an eye on Harold. She knew he would never approve of a babysitter, but with the detectives out and Miss Shaw … well, Grace didn't feel comfortable asking Miss Shaw for anything above a salt shaker. Luckily, Root had happily agreed to shadow her fiancé until Wayne was far, far away.

She just hoped Harold didn't catch on.

As usual, Grace found Miss Shaw on the couch watching the video monitors with an excessively large gun sitting next to her. It was a strange mix of comforting and unnerving to know that she had the firepower to vaporize a man's head in ten seconds flat.

"Um …" she started, getting an icy stare in return. "Is John back yet?"

"No."

Grace decided to retreat back to the library, safe from the cold indifference of Miss Shaw. She would have gone upstairs, but she didn't want to distract Harold. The sooner they could take care of the threat, the sooner the two of them could move on with their lives.

She had already waited four years, what was a few days more?

 ***P*O*I***

Lionel stood in the unnaturally white hallway, waiting for the doctor to let him know when lover-boy would be ready to leave. He didn't know what was going on with him, or why his partner had suddenly taken an interest in their new friend's health. He was the one who put him in here, after all.

"You need to work on your observational skills, detective."

Once his heart rate returned to normal, Lionel turned to glare at Tall-dark-and-stealthy. He had to be a vampire or something. It was just unnatural how quietly the guy could get around.

"Don't you ever make noise when you walk?"

"Not if I can help it," he replied quietly. "What do the doctor's say?"

"That our buddy Vince is lucky to be breathing," Lionel snorted. "Five broken ribs, concussion, bruises and lacerations on half his body; they've seen hit and run victims with less injuries!"

"At least he's breathing. How long until he can be moved?"

Before Lionel could even come up with a good answer to that overly sensitive question, the doctor approached them. He was an older guy who looked like he had been on duty for about ten hours too long. At least they would be able to give him the peace of mind that his last case of the night would not be complicated by excessive tests and paperwork. He probably wanted to get out of there as badly as they did.

"Detective," he greeted, his voice as tired as he looked. "We've done all we can for Mr. Tadaro at this time. He is free to go home, but will require a lot of rest. I recommend you wait until tomorrow to question him about the mugging."

"We'll do that," Lionel replied. "Thanks doc."

The older man gave him a tired smile and moved on to talk to a young couple waiting several feet away. Once he was out of earshot, Wonder-boy moved forward. When exactly had he moved back?

"Mugging?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"What was I supposed to tell them? My partner went all Bruce Lee on his ass because he hurt a friend? Yeah, that would look great in your disciplinary file."

"At least I didn't shoot him."

Strangely enough, that actually _was_ an improvement. If this had happened a year ago, Vince would be needing new kneecaps. Still, it's kinda hard to call him lucky with five busted ribs.

"Yeah, you're all heart. Now let's go grab Romeo and get out of here."

"Before we do, there's something you should know."

He handed over a manila folder, that Lionel took a minute too look over. They had to be kidding. He wasn't even Italian? To top it all off, he had pissed off some seriously powerful people in Jersey, people who happened to be one state too far from his jurisdiction to do anything about.

"So, what are we gonna do?"

"Finch wants us to put him in a safe house across town until we can send him back to Italy."

"Why not just send him back now?"

"Too risky. Someone might follow him."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but is that really your problem?"

"We don't choose who we save, Lionel," Reese said evenly, looking him right in the eye. "Now go get Myers while I bring the car around."

He wasn't fooling anybody. Vince Tadaro – Wayne Myers – or whatever his name was had crossed a line few survive. He was lucky to be getting a ticket home at all. Most people who crossed his partner ended up in either a Mexican prison or a shallow grave. Chances were that their mutual friend was behind this. He had yet to see Glasses truly angry, but he would have thought that this guy would have been able to manage it. Still, shut up in a safe house across town was a pretty sure fire way to keep him away from Miss Grace.

"Hey, buddy," Fusco called, stepping into the room. "Get dressed, it's time to go."

"Go where," the man sneered, his accent as heavy as ever. "You going to put me in the cement boots? Toss me in the river?"

"Better, I'm gonna toss you back to Mr. Happy."

For a moment he looked confused, then the cold realization set in and his eyes grew wide. It was kinda satisfying to see, especially after all that happened. Still, Lionel didn't have time to enjoy it. The last thing he wanted was for his partner's mood to get any worse from having to wait.

"You … you try to kill me!"

"Believe it or not, we're actually saving your life … Wayne."

That comment startled him more than the first, but this time he was able to school his features pretty well. Any cop worth his salt could tell the guy was rattled, but he'd seen people do worse.

"I don't know what you mean," he said slowly, his accent stressed more than usual. "Who is this … Wayne."

"You, smart-ass," Fusco replied, holding up the first page of his file. "Now are we gonna keep dancing around or can we go?"

* * *

Don't you love Lionel? (I sure do.)

Let me know what you think while I prepare the next chapter, which will go up in 24 hours or when requested. (And I seriously do post when requested.)

 **COMING SOON:** Grace makes a confession and John gets to spend more time with the number ... ;)


	14. Chapter 14

I am so sorry that this is late!

I meant to post it almost 10 hours ago, but I was running late for work, then had to meet up with my mom ... I'm sure you've had those days.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

Grace looked up from her book toward the window, glanced at her watch, and dropped her eyes back to her book. It had been four minutes since the last time she had gone through the routine and would likely do it again in another four.

Where was John?

She shouldn't be so worried about him, since he had been able to handle Vince before, but she couldn't help it. With the work they did, especially the former-operative-turned-cop, who knew what could happen.

Closing the book that she hadn't really been reading for the last few pages, Grace decided to see how Harold was doing. After all, if she was going to be worrying about someone, it might as well be the one who could use it. Though, based on the voices she could hear from the stairs, he had had enough worrying for the day.

"Miss Groves, I think you might be more comfortable downstairs."

"No, I like it up here. It's so … cozy."

"Regardless, I would rather be alone right now."

"So I should take Grace and leave?"

Her question caught his head to snap up and his skin tone revealed his embarrassment that she had heard his conversation. Not wanting to cause further discomfort, she pretended she hadn't heard anything.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Physically, I am doing much better."

He shot Root a look that she returned with a grin. It was slowly becoming clear why the other hacker had been so eager to protect Harold; she enjoyed driving him crazy. Feeling a bit guilty, Grace decided to confess.

"It's my fault. I asked Root to keep an eye on you, just until Vi-Wayne is out of New York."

"It's alright," he said, gently placing his hand over hers. "I appreciate your concern, but I assure you that this house is as safe as it gets. He will not get to either of us so long as we are here."

She smiled back at him, enjoying the warmth of his touch. Still, there was one more thing that would set her mind at ease.

 ***P*O*I***

John drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, wondering how long it took to get one injured man from the fourth floor to the front entrance. He wasn't even that badly injured … at least, he'd had worse. The buzzing of his cellphone took his eye off the door for a second, just long enough to see who was calling.

"Yes, Finch?"

" _We were just wondering how you are doing."_

Two things about that statement made him pause. The first was that he had been talking to his boss, in person, less than twenty minutes prior. Even Finch doesn't give into his concern that easily. The second was that he said "we." Unless Root or Shaw had suddenly become sentimental …

"Tell Grace not to worry. Vince is in no shape to hurt anyone right now."

" _As reassuring as that is, Mr. Myers is not the only threat out there."_

"Duly noted," John replied, scanning the area as Fusco appeared with their new number. "Is there anything else?"

" _Just be careful, Mr. Reese."_

"Always."

He tapped his earpiece to cut communication just as Lionel helped Vince into the backseat. The man seemed less than thrilled about it, both did actually, but he didn't say a word of complaint until they were out of the parking lot. Once they were on the road, everything changed.

"So, where are we going anyway?" Vince asked, sounding very American.

"What happened to your accent?" John questioned lightly.

"Screw you."

Yes, very, very American. Come to think of it, he sounded a lot like Lionel did when they first started working together, but he didn't see this relationship progressing quite the same way.

"Hey, pipe down back there," his partner snapped.

"Or what? You'll write me up? I bet you two ain't even cops."

"You're half right," John said quietly.

He could see Lionel's glare out of the corner of his eye, but it appeared that Vince didn't hear him. Instead, his newly rediscovered citizenship had reminded him of a few things.

"I know my rights. When I get out of here, I'm gonna have you locked up for assault, kidnapping, and harassment."

"That's assuming you live long enough to get to a lawyer," he replied calmly.

Vince snapped his mouth shut and started sulking in the back seat, either unwilling or unable to hide his discomfort when they hit a pot hole that John may or may not have been aiming for. Lionel shot him a look, but who could blame him? The guy was annoying.

"I want a phone call."

"Not gonna happen," he partner responded, turning to look out the window.

"I know my rights!"

Really, really annoying. John tilted the wheel a bit to catch another pot hole. The car only jarred slightly, but it was more than enough to make their passenger grunt. It also did not go unnoticed by his partner.

"You wanna take it easy," Lionel half whispered. "I thought we were supposed to protect this guy, not break the rest of his ribs."

John didn't answer, just kept his eyes on the road. The streets were crowded, as was usual for this part of the city at rush hour, but it should clear up once they got closer to the safe house. The worst part was the tactical issue; the enemy could be in any car, like the one that had been behind them for the last five blocks, and may not care about collateral damage. If they made a move, there weren't a lot of options. Just to be safe, John would make the next turn without signaling. If it was a tail, they would do the same thing. Here was the moment of truth …

"I wanna talk to Grace."

Vince's announcement was answered by a sudden stop which proved two things. The first was that their passenger should really keep his mouth shut. The second … they were definitely being followed.

* * *

So, what do you think of John's form of "protection"?

Let me know and I will get the next one up in 24 hours, if not sooner.


	15. Chapter 15

Hello again!

This is another short chapter, but I hope you enjoy it anyway ...

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

Grace rested her head on Harold's shoulder, mesmerized by the speed of his fingers. She didn't even try to understand what it was he was doing, but she did see things having to do with bank accounts and criminal records. Thankfully, it was all for men she hadn't heard of and not for the one she never wanted to see again. After a while, she noticed one face coming up more than the others.

"Is he the threat?"

"Most likely," Harold replied quietly. "His name is Mason Thorn; a nightclub owner Mr. Myers crossed some years back."

"But you're not sure?"

"There is always a chance the danger can come from elsewhere, but it does not seem likely under these circumstances."

But it could come from elsewhere, Grace though to herself. It could come from Wayne; it could hurt Harold. She raised her eyes to the chair Root had claimed, her own laptop open on her lap. She managed to catch the hacker's gaze and was given a reassuring smile.

Nothing was going to happen to Harold, not while his friends were around.

 ***P*O*I***

Harold focused on retrieving background information on Mr. Thorn, spurred on by the touch of the woman next to him as much as he was by the first information he found. It seemed Mr. Myers romance with Jolie Thorn barely made it passed their arrival in Italy. According to current records, she has been working at a entertainment club for nearly nine years, and not the type run by Mr. Thorn. It wasn't hard to imagine why she didn't go back to her husband, considering his record of domestic abuse, but it was still upsetting … and now Mr. Myers had set his sights on Grace.

Anger at the very thought of that man getting anywhere near his fiancée made his fingers move even faster. In fact he was so caught up in his own thoughts and work that the sound of a voice in his ear caught him by surprise.

" _Finch, we have a problem."_

Harold froze, unsure of what to do. On the one hand, he needed to help Mr. Reese, but he couldn't do it with Grace in the room. This situation was hard enough on her, there was no need for added stress.

"What's wrong?" she asked, placing a gently hand on his arm.

"Uh … I was just thinking how much I would love a cup of tea."

Though he wasn't looking her way, he could feel a skeptical look coming from Miss Groves. However, he was more concerned with whether or not Grace believed him. She looked surprised, and more than a little confused; much like his partner's voice in his ear.

" _What?"_

"You want me to make you tea?"

" _Are you trying to get rid of Grace?"_

"Yes," Harold answered both of them.

She shrugged and left the room. As soon as the door closed behind her, Finch pulled up everything he could on Mr. Reese's current position. The street cameras didn't reveal any obvious signs of danger, but that didn't mean much in their world.

"What's wrong, Mr. Reese?"

" _We got a tail. Dark sedan, no plates."_

"Actually, no front plate," Finch corrected, typing information into the computer. "The car is a rental from Philadelphia. It was rented by Bay View Lighting. That is one of the shell companies owned by Mason Thorn."

" _Thanks for the real estate lesson, Finch."_

"I'm afraid that is not all. There is another rental half a mile ahead of you."

The com-link went quiet for a moment, but Harold could imagine the shrieking tires and blaring horns as Mr. Reese took a sharp turn, barely missing a garbage truck. Their pursuer was not as lucky and slammed the front corner of their car into the dumpster the garbage truck was setting down. The drivers got out to yell at each other, giving Harold the opportunity to run the man's photo.

"Mr. Reese, it seems you were being followed by one of Mr. Thorn's bouncers, a young man by the name of Russel Lambert, with a long history of anger management… Based on his interactions with the trash collector, he was not a very good student."

" _He'll get over it. We're pulling up to the safe-house now. I'll drop Vince with Fusco and go have a talk with Thorn."_

"Be careful." Harold advised, just before the link went dead.

He should probably advise Detective Fusco to do the same, but decided against it. He was a seasoned police officer and a loyal friend, he would keep an eye on Mr. Myers. Besides, what could happen when they were inside a safe-house?

* * *

I would have made this longer, but it seemed like such a perfect ending.

Let me know what you think and I'll try to get the next part up in 12 hours. (I feel bad that I didn't make the last two in the time frame I promised.)

 **COMING SOON:** Something happens in the safe house ...


	16. Chapter 16

Here you go, 12 hours later. (I posted on time!)

I would like to thank my readers for being understanding about my crazy life and not posting when I say I will.

Now, to see why you should never ask "what's the worst that can happen?"

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

As Grace finished preparing Harold's tea, she poked around the kitchen to find something he could munch on before dinner. After all, healing took a lot of energy and it didn't matter how many times he said he was fine, that man was still pale. A sudden vibration startled her and she reached into her pocket to pull out her cell phone. She had already received several calls and texts from friends, worried at her sudden departure, so it shouldn't have been so unexpected. Of course, the number usually didn't show up as unknown …

"Pronto," she said, starting off in Italian, just in case. ( _Ready_ )

"Ciao, amore mio," purred the voice on the other end. ( _Hello, my love)_

Grace almost dropped the phone in shock. It was him! Why would he be calling her now? Wasn't he with John and Detective Fusco? Had something happened to them? She gripped the counter to keep from collapsing and fought to keep her voice under control.

"What do you want?"

"Mi machi, bella. Why did you leave me?" ( _I miss you, beautiful_ )

He had thickened his accent, which only made his voice more unnerving. How could something so beautiful hide such a cold heart? How could something so sweet be so terrifying?

"You hurt Harold."

"I was just upset," he cooed. "But if you come back to me, bella, then I will never have to hurt him again."

Grace felt her blood run cold. That wasn't just an idle comment, he was threatening Harold! He was going to hurt him again! She knew this man and he would wait as long as he had to to get her fiancé alone. But where was John? Where was Detective Fusco? Had he already taken them out?

"Please," she whisper. "Leave him alone."

"There is an easy way to keep him safe. Just meet me at the café on 56th and 6th, You know it?"

"Yeah, I know it," she admitted, her heart sinking as she realized what she would have to do. "If I go to you, you will leave Harold and his friends alone?"

"Of course, I am not a monster."

That was debatable. Still, she knew she had to do something. Slipping out the basement door, she did her best to avoid the cameras and hail a cab. Not an easy feat, but somehow she managed it. Harold had sacrificed everything for her safety, now it was time she returned the favor.

 ***P*O*I***

Lionel looked through the cupboards of this safe house, thankful to find coffee and food he didn't need a smoking jacket to eat. No offense to Mr. Vocabulary, but his taste ran a little rich for the steak-and-potatoes detective. Heck, his taste ran a little rich for the Prince of Wales!

A sound from the living room caught his attention and caused Lionel to reach for his gun. He wasn't sure if he was going to have to shoot an intruder or his charge, but either way he was willing. Turned out, it was his charge – halfway out the front door.

"Hold it!" Lionel snapped, raising his gun. "Back up."

"There a law against taking a walk, _Detective_?"

"Today there is, now get your ass back inside."

Though for a second it looked like he might run, cocking the gun seemed to change his mind. He slammed the door and stalked into the back bedroom, Lionel on his heels. The detective had protected a lot of people, and not all of them completely willing to be protected. That, and the fact he had a teenage son, made him very aware of the ways someone could sneak out of a place.

"What, now I can't even have privacy?"

"I let you use the bathroom, didn't I?"

They stared each other down for a minute, before Myers broke eye contact. He was edgy, even more than when Wonderboy was still in the house. Something was up, Lionel just had to figure out what it was before it came back to bite them in the ass.

"What's your hurry?You got somewhere you need to be?"

"I just don't like being stuck in this hole."

"Well, get used to it pal, 'cause you ain't leaving."

He actually pouted at that one, or at least that's what it looked like with his fat lip. But the way he was sitting on the edge of the bed with his shoulders slumped and his arms crossed definitely reminded Lionel of how Lee would act … when he was put in time out at age three. What did Grace ever see in this guy?

"I have rights," Myers declared … for the eighteenth time. "You can't keep me here."

"You wanna bet on that?"

The fake Italian stood up, taking advantage of the three inches he had on the detective. It would have been more intimidating if he didn't have to move slowly, with an arm wrapped around his middle, but the guy was still tall.

"I'll take that bet."

Fifteen minutes later, Lionel was back in the kitchen searching through the cupboards, while Myers was securely handcuffed to a pipe in the bathroom with a sock stuffed in his mouth. Glasses may not approve, but it sure was satisfying.

"Hey! Sandwiches okay with you?!"

"UMGAHAETOAHEH!"

"I'll take that as a yes."

He quickly put dinner together and brought it to his charge. Unfortunately, now he would have to uncuff him or feed the guy by hand. Either way, he would have to remove the sock, and that was about as appealing as letting him go altogether.

"Room service," Lionel announced, carrying the plate of food into the bathroom.

He set it down on a cabinet, ignoring the look of death coming from the floor near the sink. Myers looked too pathetic to be intimidating and was way too annoying to garner any sympathy. Still, unless he wanted to eat his own food from the side of a tub, Lionel was going to have to free one of the guy's hands. But when he crouched down to reach the cuffs, the detective heard the sound of a tingling bell. Not what he was expecting to hear on the floor of a bathroom.

"What the hell?"

While Myers was clearly trying to pretend he hear nothing, the sound came again … from the guy's pocket. Reaching inside, and glad he had yet to remove the sock, Lionel found a cellphone with two text messages. Shooting his charge a look, he unlocked the screen to read the texts and felt his heart drop into his stomach.

"Oh, Christ," he cursed, pulling out his own phone and hitting speed dial.

" _Yes, Detective?_ "

"We got a problem …"

* * *

So, did anyone see THAT coming?

Let me know if you would like the next post in 12, 18, or 24 hours.


	17. Chapter 17

Hello again!

So, I got three votes for when I should post. One said post in 12 hours, one said post in 24 hours, and the other said to post twice in 12 hours. I'm going to do all three. :)

Here is the first in 12 hours.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

Grace closed her eyes, trying to block out the sounds of traffic, trying to block out everything. Even so, tears still managed to fall as her mind drifted back to the brownstone she left behind and the man who didn't deserve the pain she knew she had to be causing him.

"I'm sorry, Harold," she whispered, as if he could somehow hear.

But he couldn't. He would never hear her voice again.

Was this how he felt when he left her behind the day of the ferry bombing? Did he feel this empty and cold? Did his heart break the way hers was now?

Why did she leave him? She knew she had to keep him safe, but there might have been a better way. If only she could have called John. If only she had trusted Miss Shaw.

If only.

There were no more ifs, there were no more options. She had left the man she loved without even a goodbye, without even the comfort of an answer of whether or not she was still alive. His pain would be unbearable, but no more so than the pain of losing him to a man like Wayne. But, would he be able to live with her loss? Would she be able to live with her choice?

Would she even live?

 ***P*O*I***

John stood in a spacious office, looking out over Atlantic City. Based on the size as well as the view, it looked like Mason Thorn had recovered from Vince's theft and then some. Still, guys with this much money and power hated to lose any of it, as shown by the welcoming comity they had dodged back in New York.

"Detective Riley," a voice boomed, as a well dressed man entered the office. "Aren't you a little far from your jurisdiction?"

"This is just a courtesy call," John replied, matching Thorn's fake smile. "I just wanted to warn you that if you go after Wayne Myers in my city again, we are gonna have a problem."

"Oh?" he asked, taking a seat at a desk twice as large as it needed to be. "Is my old friend Wayne back in town? I wasn't even aware."

The man may have been a smooth talker, but he was a horrible liar. He was also way to confidant for someone who had failed to reach his goal less than an hour before. Something was wrong.

"Well, if that's all you came to say, Detective, I would appreciate it if you let me get back to work. This city doesn't run itself you know."

With that, looked down at his paperwork as if the ex-op had already left. In a way, Thorn reminded John of Elias with his cool detachment and charismatic air, but the man was far to snake-like to truly be like the crime boss. Still, he was up to something, they just had to find out what.

Not having anything else to say to Thorn at that time, John headed to the elevator. It took several minutes to reach their floor, giving him time to case the lobby. Security cameras and rent-a-cops. This office was obviously more for show than anything else. If Thorn was hiding anything incriminating, it sure wasn't here.

"Mr. Reese!" Finch's frantic voice made him pause halfway into the elevator. "Grace is gone! It looks like Mr. Thorn has her."

Turning back, John stormed back into the office and right up to the over-sized desk. No wonder he had been so confidant, he thought he had an ace in the hole. Only problem was, he wasn't dealing with Wayne Myers anymore. He was dealing with him.

"Where is she?"

"Who?" Thorn blinked. "I'm sorry, I don't know—"

He cut off with a startled yelp when John reached across the desk and dragged him to the other side. The men trying to pass as guards tried to intervene, but hardly proved to be a threat. He was able to take them out without even letting go of the snake in the suit. Now that they were down, he was getting to get some answers.

"Where is Grace Ellison?"

"What makes you think I know?"

Apparently brute force wasn't working. So, he decided to try the more gentle form of the direct approach. John pulled his gun and placed the barrel against Thorn's shoulder. Then, he clicked back the hammer and spoke in a soft, calm tone.

"I know you have her somewhere and it you don't tell me where, I'm just going to have to start putting holes in you until you do."

Now he was shaking and sweating, but still trying to stay in charge. Gathering whatever courage he had, which didn't seem to be much, he answered in a trembling voice.

"You kill me, and you'll never find her. Remember, I'm the only one keeping her alive and she's not going anywhere without a trade."

He was right … and that was exactly what John needed to hear.

* * *

Don't you love John?

I look forward to your feedback while I prepare the next part, which will be up in 12 hours. (24 hours after the last one was posted and the second 12 hour posting.)


	18. Chapter 18

Okay, so this one is a little early, but in order to post EXACTLY 12 hours after the last one would require me missing church with Daddy on Father's Day. (Not acceptable.) Besides, I doubt any of you would object to an early posting.

So, here is Harold's reaction to Grace's disappearance.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

Grace felt the car stop and her heart rate increased. The sounds of the city had long since faded and she couldn't help but feel that they had brought her out here to make her disappear. If only she knew who these men were. Were they sent by Wayne, his enemies, or Harold's enemies? The idea that she might be used against Harold made her ill, but she had no one to blame but herself. She should never had left the brownstone, should have never left the man she loved.

Light flooded the trunk where she had been trapped and a rough hand pulled her to her feet. As she expected, the trio of thugs had brought her to the middle of nowhere and a cabin that looked like it hadn't seen love since the great depression; a far cry from the warehouse she had been kept in the last time she had been kidnapped. Though whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, she had no idea.

"This way," the man holding her arm said, dragging her around the back of the house.

It took both the other men to pry open the creaky cellar doors and Grace was shoved into the damp darkness. She wasn't bound, but that was hardly a comfort in the pitch black. She could hear moment in the shadows and blindly climbed back to the doors. They were locked, but if she pushed on them a small sliver of light came through. So there she sat, her back pressed against the dirty wood, just to get a glimpse of something other than darkness.

A ray of hope in a cold tomb.

 ***P*O*I***

Harold sat in the backseat of his car with his arm resting across his ribs, but really didn't care about the pain anymore. His physical injuries didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing except finding Grace.

"You doing alright back there?" Miss Groves asked, looking over the front seat.

"I'm fine," he answered mechanically.

He didn't even look to see if she believed him, just continued to stare out the window. Was Grace still in the city? Was she hurt? Was she—Harold closed his eyes, banishing the dark thought from his mind. He had to believe that she was okay.

He couldn't bear it if she wasn't.

A moment later the car stopped and Harold allowed Miss Groves to help him out of the car. He may not care about the pain, but his body was protesting it in every way possible. His already stiff movements had become even more difficult and the act of standing upright left him dizzy. Still, he could not let this stop him. He had to push through it, he had to find her.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Miss Groves commented, supporting him by his arm.

"You don't have to go with me," Harold replied slowly, preparing himself to try walking alone.

Thankfully, she did not let go and the two of them climbed the steps of the apartment complex, Miss Shaw close behind. Harold had never liked this building much, and the amount of stairs was reminding him why. He had purchased the apartment years ago under a discontinued alias, much like his brownstone. At the time, he meant to use it as an office, but it ended up being storage until the need for safe houses arose. The neighborhood had gone downhill since then, which made it an optimal place when you wanted to avoid detection. People hiding from the police themselves are less likely to say anything about the occasional bleeding occupant.

"Hey," Detective Fusco greeted, clearly surprised by their arrival. "What's going on?"

"I would like to speak with Mr. Myers," Harold replied.

"Is he serious?" the detective asked, looking at the woman currently keeping him upright.

"Very," Miss Shaw replied, pushing past him to gain entrance into the apartment.

Leaning on Miss Groves, Harold followed and took a seat on the couch. The uneven stuffing did less for his ribs than the car ride, but he forced himself to remain neutral. He was not going to show any weakness, not with what he had to say.

"Where is he?" Miss Shaw asked for him, standing just behind the couch.

"He's in the bathroom."

"I'll wait," Harold said, shifting to a slightly more comfortable position.

"It's gonna be a long wait," Detective Fusco smirked. "I'll go get him."

While he headed toward the back of the apartment, Miss Groves knelt down to look Harold in the eye. He could tell she was concerned, and he appreciated it, but he was not the one who needed it.

"I just want you to know that, if he tries anything, I'm going to break his jaw."

"That's not necessary."

"I know," she grinned, standing up. "Doesn't mean I won't do it."

He wasn't able to respond because he could hear Detective Fusco bringing his attacker into the room, and muttering a few physical threats of his own. Mr. Myers was placed in a chair across from the couch with the detective right behind him and his hands cuffed, though why he needed restraints was not clear. His face was three different shades and his swollen lip stuck out in a perpetual pout. There was an elastic bandage wrapped around his wrist under the cuffs and multiple gauze pads taped over most of the visible skin. Apparently, Miss. Groves' assumptions regarding the violence of John's earlier visit were not far from the truth.

"What do you want?" Mr. Myers sneered, his accent now American.

"There is something I would like you to know," Harold replied, keeping his voice even. "To this point, I have been trying my best to keep you alive—"

"Looks like your best ain't that great," he interrupted, raising his bandaged hand.

Harold raised his own hand to stop his friends before Mr. Myers gained any new injuries. It was astonishing to think that this was the same man who had been such a friend to Grace; his temperament would offend a hamster.

"Nevertheless, I will continue to keep you away from Mason Thorn so long as I am able," he continued, before dropping his voice. "But know this; I may not be physically intimidating, but do not think for a moment that means I am helpless. If anything happens to Grace because of your actions, I will use every resource at my disposal to destroy you."

His speech was met with a cruel smile as Mr. Myers shook his head. Perhaps he didn't believe that Harold could do what he was saying, perhaps he didn't care. In any case, he had spoken his peace and readied himself to leave when the false Italian leaned forward.

"At least, you won't have her either."

A moment later, he fell back into the chair with a cry of pain caused by a kick to the shoulder from Miss. Groves. There was more satisfaction than sympathy from Detective Fusco as he unceremoniously dragged him back toward the bedroom. Harold turned to look at his appointed protector, just to see her smile and shrug.

"Sorry, reflex."

"How exactly was that a reflex?"

She didn't bother with an answer, but once again Detective Fusco's arrival changed the subject. Harold made a mental note to talk to her later, while the cop brought up another concern.

"So, what do we do now?"

There was a soft knock at the door and the conversation stopped while the detective checked to see who it was. Based on the way he holstered his weapon, Mr. Reese was back from Atlantic City. Now that they were all together, perhaps an answer could found.

"We could always trade, Myers for Grace," Miss Shaw suggested, resuming the discussion.

"And look the other way while he is murdered?" Harold challenged.

"You gave yourself up to a killer to save her," Miss Groves pointed out.

"It was my life to give. It is one thing to be willing to sacrifice yourself, it is quite another to put someone else's life on the line."

"I agree," John said, stepping into the living room and shoving his own prisoner to the floor.

The man was in a suit with his hands duct tapped behind his back and, based on the muffled grunt, a gag under the black hood that covered his head. Everyone else seemed just as confused as Harold, and he looked up at his partner for an explanation.

"Mason Thorn said he wouldn't release Grace without a trade," John stated. "Do you think _his_ life is worth enough?"

* * *

So, what do you think of John's plan?

Let me know and I'll get the next part up in the next 24 hours.


	19. Chapter 19

This chapter is dedicated to Canada and all my readers residing there. Not only have they dominated to rise to the slot of second most views by country, but I recently found out that Canada offered my dear grandfather a safe haven during the most deadly storms of the Dust Bowl. (For a farmer, that would have been pretty important.)

Here you go ...

* * *

 **Chapter 19**

Grace woke in the dark, for a moment not remembering where she was. The damp wood against her back was a chilling reminder of how utterly alone she had become in only one day. She pushed again on the door, but the small sliver that peeked through was starting to dim. The sun would be setting soon, so she could not have been asleep for long. If only she could wake from this nightmare and go back to her dream. It was of Harold. He was holding her, telling her how he would never leave her again. But that wasn't a dream, that had happened only a day before, and he was not the one who left, she was.

"I'm sorry," Grace whispered to the dimming light. "I'm so sorry."

Her voice sounded harsh and bitter tears had left stiff tracks down her cheeks. She deserved it. She deserved all of this for leaving Harold without so much as a goodbye. She wished she could have just one more minute with him, just one to tell him how much she loved him.

The light faded and she pushed on the door again, but there was nothing. No more light, no more hope. All that was left was darkness and regret.

"Harold, please forgive me."

 ***P*O*I***

Lionel shut lowlife number two in the front bedroom, before joining the others for their little meeting. The current topic of debate: where their four-eyed friend would spend the next few hours. The current vote was four in favor of him going home and one for him going on the exchange to get Grace. Unfortunately, the single vote seemed to carry more weight than the rest of them put together and the debate had hit a stalemate.

"Come on, Harry. You know what you need to do."

"I'm well aware of what I have to do."

"Glasses, you barely made it across town with those ribs. What makes you think you could make it to Jersey?"

"My physical comfort is not important, Detective. Getting Grace back is."

"We'll get her back," his partner vowed. "We'll bring her straight to you."

"That is not good enough, Mr. Reese. And may I remind you that I have my own resources. If I must, I will go to Grace myself."

He had to be bluffing, but they couldn't risk it if he wasn't. Then again, if it was Lee out there, the hounds of Hell wouldn't be able to stop Lionel from going after him, much less a couple of broken ribs. If Glasses cared for Grace half as much as he cared for his son, there was no way he was bluffing.

"Alright," Reese agreed, as reluctantly as his voice could get. "But you will stay in the car until we have her."

With that settled, the only thing left was to decide what to do with lowlife number one. While the most popular option was to throw him in the East River tied to an anchor, the boss would never allow it. At least they could do the next best thing and ship him out of the country. Maybe Mr. Vocabulary would let them use a packing crate …

"Miss Groves, I trust you can get the necessary papers in order."

"Sure, Harry," Coco Puffs smiled, looking more than a little homicidal. "I'll take care of it."

"Detective Fusco will assist you."

"Wait, you mean I'm stuck with Romeo _and_ Nutter-butter? Why can't one of the wonder twins play chauffeur?"

"Don't worry, Lionel," Mr. Sunshine said, checking his gun. "I'm sure you can handle it. Now, let's go get Romeo."

Even though he seemed only slightly less homicidal than their more unstable colleague, Lionel led the way back to the room where Lover-boy was waiting. He was on the bed where he left him, probably still trying to catch his breath after that last kick to the ribs. It was too bad they were sending him off so soon; Lionel hadn't had a chance to go any rounds with him.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he called, tapping his foot. "Time to go."

"Screw you," the lowlife muttered. "I ain't moving."

"You wanna bet on that?"

He seemed to be learning, because Romeo was moving within seconds. Of course he stopped the second he saw Mr. Happy, but his partner just seemed to have that effect on people. What was he doing in there anyway?

"Hello, Vince," Tall-Dark-and-Dangerous said with a smile. "I got good news. You just won a trip out of the country. I recommend making it permanent; because if you come back, I will know, and if I ever see you again, no one else will. Understand?"

His tone was light, but there was an edge to it that was unmistakable. He meant every word. It seemed that the message got through loud and clear. The fake Italian didn't make a sound in protest as Lionel led him out of the apartment, Nutella following close behind. This was gonna be fun.

One their second stop, Lionel was really wishing he would have switched places with Thing One or Thing two. Hostage exchanges may not be his forte, but it sure eat sitting in the care with the moping Mario.

"How do I know if you really gonna put me on a plane?"

"You don't, now pipe down."

"I got my rights."

"You're gonna get a lot more than that if you don't keep your mouth shut."

He never thought he would be glad to see Nutter-butter, but five minutes alone with Myers was giving him a head ache. So, when she finally slipped back behind the wheel, he left out a sigh of relief.

"Aw," she grinned as she pulled back into traffic, "did you miss me?"

"Like a toothache. Can we get to the airport now?"

"Just as soon as we lose our new friend."

Before he even had a chance to ask, something slammed into their car. Lionel's wrist hit the dashboard hard enough to make his teeth rattle. At least his own cursing drowned out the cries of pain coming from the back seat. He was barely aware of the car speeding up, but was very aware of the sedan coming up behind them.

"I did warn you."

"No," Lionel snapped, cradling his hand. "A warning is something like 'brace yourself' not-"

"Brace yourself!"

The next second the car made a sharp left and Lionel's head made a dull thunk against the window. Now he had a headache to add to the list. At least the screams in the back had quieted to a low moan, he didn't need any extra noise over the screeching tires and crunch of glass.

"Was that enough warning?"

"I hate you."

It took a second for the detective's thoughts to catch up with the events, but when they did he was relieved to find they were no longer being followed. In fact, the sedan was now a twisted piece of scrap protruding out of a construction site. It looked bad, but the cab was pretty intact.

"I better call that in," Lionel muttered, half to himself and he pulled out his cell phone.

"You do that, and be sure to mention how you fled the screen with an illegal immigrant."

"I ain't illegal!" came a growl from the back.

"That's not what the paperwork says," she answered back, flashing one of her creepy smile over the seat. "Now you just sit tight. We'll be there soon."

A few minor traffic violations later, they pulled up to the airport. Lionel climbed out of the car and got a good look at the damage. The back bumper was gone and one of the lights was hanging on by a thread. That sedan must have been built like a hummer.

"Glad we used your car and not mine," he commented.

"Oh, Lionel, you really think I would use my own car for this?"

He wanted to ask whose car it was, but thought better of it. After all, it's not like she would give him an actual answer anyway. So, he followed her lead which led them … right up to a perfect stranger.

"Neil Bronson?"

"Do I know you," the man asked, giving the trio a curious look.

"I'm Agent King," she answered, flashing a badge. "I've been instructed to turn this prisoner over to you for removal to Italy."

"I'm not with immigration."

"No," she said, dropping her voice. "But you are the Air Marshal scheduled for the 8:00 to Rome and we need to get this man on the next flight out."

The real agent looked suspicious, but took the paperwork she handed over. Lionel didn't get a chance to look over any of it, but it seemed to be doing the trick. For his part, Romeo kept his mouth shut. Finally, things were working in their favor.

"You'll understand if I check this with my superiors."

"Go ahead."

While he walked away to make a phone call, Lionel leaned over to the make-believe agent. It wasn't that he didn't have faith in her abilities, but there were some things that couldn't be forged … like people.

"And what is your plan for when this guy's boss says your full of it?"

"Lionel, you really need to learn to trust people."

He didn't get a chance to answer, because the air marshal was heading back. He didn't look angry … or suspicious … or really any emotion at all. Frankly, the lack of expression was almost worse than knowing you got caught.

"Alright," Bronson said, tucking the paperwork under his arm. "I'll take him from here. Anything I need to know?"

"You might want to keep an eye on his ribs. That last girl he harassed had a fiancé."

The marshal smirked, giving Lover-boy a once over, and shook his head. Lionel had almost the same reaction; apparently Banana Nut Crunch could tell the truth on occasion. With Myers safely delivered to the air marshals, the only thing left was the hostage exchange.

He sure hoped Wonderboy had a easier time than they did.

* * *

So, what do you think of Lionel's part of the adventure?

Only two chapters to go ...


	20. Chapter 20

Hello again!

This chapter is dedicated to Defender31415 for posting both my 50th and 60th reviews, and a huge thanks to the rest of you who made it possible to post a 50th and 60th review.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 20**

The door to the cellar jerked open, causing her to loose her balance. She would have fallen face first into the darkness if a rough hand hadn't caught her arm. Of course, any gratitude she might have felt for the save vanished when her arm nearly twisted out of its socket.

"Careful!" a new voice shouted. "You heard the boss; don't hurt her."

Though the knowledge that she wasn't going to be harmed was comforting, it supported the idea that Vince was behind this kidnapping. Grace was not looking forward to spending her life with a guy like that, but she would do whatever it took to keep the man she loved safe.

Please stay safe, Harold.

The goons led her back to the car, but this time she was allowed in the back seat instead of the trunk. Not that there was much to see beyond darkness and trees. Even the stars were obscured by the thick canopy above them.

"Get in," one of the men ordered, opening the back door.

The car itself was a lot more comfortable that the trunk, but the company kept the ride from being enjoyable. As it was, Grace just stared into the night and tried to imagine where Harold was at that very moment. She pictured him in his soft bed, propped up by pillows, with his computer on his lap. No doubt he would be looking for her, but she hoped he would move on soon. He didn't need the added stress in his life and she felt horrible for putting it there.

Suddenly, the car stopped, a pair of headlights shining in the distance. Grace was pulled from the car and dragged toward the lights. Whoever owned the other car must have had their brights on, because she couldn't see a thing beyond a few silhouettes. One of the shadows began moving toward her and a shove from behind let Grace know that she was supposed to be doing the same thing.

Here goes nothing …

 ***P*O*I***

John kept one eye on Thorn as he passed Grace. She looked confused, and more than a little nervous, but was walking on her own. That was one point in their favor. Once she was close enough, John stepped forward and her eyes went wide. She froze mid-step and for a moment it looked like she might run.

"Grace?"

"John? No, it can't … you can't … he'll hurt Harold."

While he had an idea that was how Vince had lured her out of the house, hearing it from her made him wish he had hit the guy harder. At least Root was able to add a few more bruises before they left. Still, a flight to Rome was way more than he deserved. But right now, his one and only concern was getting Grace to safety.

"Hey," he soothed, placing his hands on her arms. "Harold is fine. He's in the car."

"But, Vince—"

"Is on a plane out of the country. It's okay."

"Reese, get out of there," Shaw's voice snapped in his ear.

While she started to calm down, John hurried her back to the car … where Finch was standing by the open back door. Apparently, his personal safety mean nothing when Grace was involved. However, in this case, it was almost acceptable as it drew her more quickly out of the line of fire.

"Harold," she sobbed, running into his arms.

"Grace," he whispered back. "Did they hurt you? God, your freezing."

He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around his fiancée. Unfortunately, that caring act kept the two of them in the open and Shaw was reminding him once again, in no uncertain terms, to get moving.

"You think you can finish this in the car?" he suggested.

"Is that a bruise?"

"The car, Finch."

"He's right, we should go."

At least Grace could think past their reunion, though maybe she was trying to keep the topic off the bruises on her arm. They were different shades, so not made at the same time. If John was to guess, he would say the earlier marks came from her abduction and the later ones just before the exchange. It appeared he was going to have to have a second talk with Thorn after all.

"Shaw, we're on our way to pick you up."

"About time."

While he backed up down the dark road, John glanced back at the couple. She was leaning against his side, his arms wrapped around her, both apologizing to the other for what happened. He shook his head at the sight and hit the speed dial on his cell.

"Fusco, we got her."

"Good, but next time, you go with ride with the super-powered nutball."

"So I take it you had a few bumps?"

"Bumps? I got whiplash just from riding with her, and that was before another one of those rentals tried to run us off the road!"

"You make the plane?"

"I'm fine, thanks for asking. And yeah, Mario lifted off half hour ago."

"Good, see you back at the house."

John headed toward the highway, already thinking ahead to his midnight rendez vous with Mason Thorn. He was going to have to make it really clear that Vince was out of his reach as well as drive home that Grace was off limits to both of them. He was also going to have to spell out what would happen if he or any of his men came near John's friends again. Of course, it could get messy. After their last encounter, Thorn would probably have beefed up his personal security. Not that it would be a huge hindrance, but it had been a long week and John was hoping to get a few hours of sleep tonight. Maybe he should bring Shaw to help speed things up …

* * *

So Grace is safe, Harold is safe, Vince is gone, Thorn is ... well, he's okay at the moment.

Let me know what you think while I prepare the final chapter of THIS story. ;)


	21. Chapter 21

**It's finished!**

We have reached the last chapter of this story!

I would like to offer a HUGE thanks to my betas (Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf) as well as all the readers ad reviewers who have supported me through my very first POI story. You are ALL awesome! :)

Here is the final installment of "From Italy with Love," enjoy ...

* * *

 **Chapter 21**

Grace drank in the warmth of Harold's embrace, breathing in his scent and wonder how she ever thought she could leave him. She had apologized for her actions, he had apologized for not preventing them, but now they just held each other in silence. She might have have thought he had fallen asleep, except that his fingers continued to caress hers. She shivered under his touch, thrilled to finally have him for her own, now and forever.

"You warm enough?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Grace replied, before having another thought. "Are your ribs okay? I'm not leaning on you too hard, am I?"

She started to sit up, but Harold pulled her back down, a smile spread across his face as he assured her that she was not hurting him. Even so, she made sure to keep her weight on his shoulder and off his ribs. Soon, the feeling of euphoria returned and the world outside the back seat faded away.

There were only two people in the world, now and forever.

 ***P*O*I***

Harold rested his head against Grace's, thanking God to have her in his arms again. His world had stopped when she disappeared and never wanted to feel like that again. He couldn't risk losing her, not to Wayne Myers, Mason Thorn, Decima, or anyone. But what could he do? There was no way to guarantee her safety, aside from shutting her away for the rest of her life, but that would be no life at all. No, life would not give them even the promise of tomorrow. In that case, there was really only one thing he could do. As carefully as he could, Harold pulled his cell out of his pocket and did a quick search.

"What are you doing?" Grace asked in a tired voice.

"Shh," Harold hushed, stroking her hair with his free hand. "Just go to sleep. Everything will be alright in the morning."

He felt her relax and continued his search. It didn't take long to set it up, but their window was rapidly closing. Slowly, so as not to disturb Grace, he held his phone over the front seat.

"Mr. Reese, would you mind turning around and going to this address?"

John took the phone and checked the display, his frown visible in the review mirror. He could understand his skepticism, but under the circumstances, there were no other options.

"You sure about this?"

"I've never been more sure about anything in my life," Harold replied. "How long until we reach the harbor?"

"Just a few hours."

"Good. We'll also need some clothes."

"I'll take care of it," Miss Shaw volunteered. "Why don't you get some sleep while you can."

Harold decided to take her advice and rested his head against his beloved. The morning would bring new challenges, ones he never thought he would ever have to face. Yet here he was, about to literally sail into uncharted waters.

His thoughts and feeling wrestled as he drifted into an uneasy sleep, until someone touched his shoulder. Harold's eyes snapped open and he found himself staring into John's smiling face.

"Good morning."

Suddenly feeling stiffness in his back, he almost shifted, but didn't want to disturb Grace. Lucky for him, John's greeting seemed to be enough. She sat up, blinking in the morning light.

"Where are we?" she asked, checking her watch. "6:30? Harold, what's going on?"

"Uh … um," Harold stammered, stretching as well as he could. "Do you remember when we talked about taking a cruise?"

"Yeah … in 2010, to the Greek Isles."

"Well, this isn't to the Greek Isles, but it's still a start."

She looked confused, glaceing to the small cruise ship in the harbor and back to him. After a moment, realization dawned and she started to cry. For once, her tears didn't fill him with regret and he couldn't help but smile.

"You mean? Oh, Harold!"

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, while any doubts that he might have had about this trip faded away. After a moment, John opened the car door and helped them out, six suitcases sitting on the pavement beside him.

"Do we need that much luggage?" Harold asked. "We won't be gone much longer than a week."

"Shaw wanted to make sure we were prepared."

"We?" Grace questioned, looking from the ex-op to her fiancé. "John's coming with us?"

"Just for security reasons," he assured them, picking up two of the bags. "Besides, you're gonna need a witness."

He was right about that, Harold just hoped he had decided to pack a more conservative bag for this trip. He did not want the port authorities called due to an obscene amount of firearms. However, the three of them made it onto the ship without indecent and soon were settling into their rooms.

"This is really it, isn't it Harold," Grace gushed, putting her case next to his in the spacious closet. "We're really gonna do it."

"We're four years past due," he replied, taking her in his arms. "Don't you think it's time?"

She smiled and gave him a kiss, before leaning into his embrace. The ships horn blew and Harold felt the ship begin to move away from the shore, leaving everything behind. Tonight, their new life would begin.

Tonight they would finally say "I do."

* * *

What do you think?

After everything I put them through, I had to end on a happy note.

Before you get too sad about this story coming to an end, I would like to remind you that this is the FIRST in a series.

 **COMING SOON:** Story #2 "Over Troubled Waters"


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